Creative Writing: All Quiet On The Western Front

The first step was followed by the last step in succession, not a hint of hesitation in his walk. Both feet were planted at the entrance of the train as quickly as they had been in the station. He had walked passed couples having their last embrace, mothers and daughters sharing a tearful goodbye, and siblings promising that the other would return home safe. The heavy atmosphere was hard to ignore, yet his own attitude shared no part in the matter. Despite the grim reality that lay in front of him, he couldn’t consider himself the black sheep. Rather, he believed that everyone else was being melodramatic. There was no point in delaying the inevitable, and with his own cynical take on life, he took his future with no more despair than that of other routine events. He figured his life could have never got much worse, and now that it has, he found it a bit darkly comical than anything else. He supposed that is was true that life was nothing more than being shitty thing after shitty thing until you died.

He associated himself with crowds of hoodlums and thieves, and upon hearing the call to war, they all chattered amongst themselves about what kind of damage they were about to do. Vincent always knew he surrounded himself with idiots; it was almost as if they didn’t understand what war was in the first place. Ever since its proposal, Vincent knew this war was a shallow thing. He vehemently denied to be involved in anything of the sort, even if he seemed to be the stain upon the rest of his patriotic country. His draft didn’t change a thing about his temperament. He fought against the draft, all the way up to the preliminary testing. He had hoped that his refusal to be complacent would disqualify him from war, but he got his first sour taste of war at testing. They weren’t afraid to break a rebellious