I listen to the sounds of war. The howling of the fearsome soldiers. The burning of young men, screaming for their lives. They did not deserve it. Before the war, we were all innocent. Clueless of the violence of war. Of men fighting each other over politics. Their blood-soaked bodies, tears staining their eyes, and eyes of hope to see their families again. But there was no hope. No one was surviving. Even if you survived the war, the trauma staining your brain will make you live your life in fear. All my friends are gone, burned alive. At first, we thought it was cool to fight in the war, but soon enough we knew the mistake we made. I am all that’s left of my friends and family. I am all alone. I remember that day. It was the battle of Verdun. The bloodiest battle of World War One. We were in the trenches. My friends and I ate while talking about the war. But yet do we know what we have ahead of us? I remember the ground shaking. I got my rifle and looked above the trenches. That is when I saw the most horrific thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It was a huge war machine with a huge gun on the front. The Germans called them tanks. I’ve heard of them in stories, taking out numerous men. My heart was pounding on my chest. I felt like death was right next to me, ready to take me to darkness. The tanks were getting closer, and the French soldiers around me were screaming in French. We got out machine guns. We fired at the tanks. Ratatatatatata! The bullets would do nothing to the intense armor that machine had. We started panicking, thinking we all would die. Our lieutenant yelled that we had to go up into no man’s land to fight the Germans. We did as we were told, rushing up into the Germans’ guns. I ran and ran and watched as soldiers screamed and fell to the ground, being shot and killed. I ran and fell behind a small dirt mound. A soldier tried to go there as well but ended up getting shot and falling right next to me. I take his shovel and run into the German trench. A soldier tackles me to the ground, I fight him and I eventually force his head into the mud, suffocating him. A few bubbles come out of the mud, then nothing. He was dead. Then came the flamethrowers. We were cornered. I see my friend try to surrender, “Please! Please! Plea—“ He then got burned alive and screamed until he fell to the ground. Those screams of terror still haunt me today. I eventually find the rest of my friends’ corpses, they all died a brutal death, and I was the one who survived? I was filled with anger, and sadness, that I was the one who survived and they didn’t. I look to the other trench. The French are trying to surrender but the Germans are on top using the flamethrowers on them.  After the Battle of Verdun, the French adopted a new battle cry. Ils ne passeront pas. They shall not pass. Every time I hear that sentence, I go back to the horrors of war and tragedy, and the memories of my lost friends come to my mind. I was 23 at the time. Now I am 82.  I live in a retirement home. All alone. The memories still haunt me today and I live a life full of sadness, anger, and regret. I feel like I’m dead. Alive, but dead. I died a while ago, right when my friends died. My soul is there, my body is here.