Search This Blog

Sunday, 31 July 2016

1916: An Electric Lightbulb, by Graham Attenborough

The whistles blew. The young man climbed the ladder with urgency. Like all the others. Once beyond the relative safety of the trench, he ran. He knew he was screaming even though he couldn't hear the sound, lost, as it was, amidst the cacophony of hell. He realised that, so loud was the sound of battle that he couldn't actually hear anything. He could feel it though, pounding his body with its shocks. He felt his heart beating with such force that it was like a pulsar - still to be discovered.

The first phase had been told to stroll across to the enemy lines. Now he clambered over the soft lumps of their bodies, trying not to be caught in their unbelieving eyes. He ran on towards the Germans, sitting behind their machine guns, fresh from their deep burrows.

It felt as though he'd been punched but when he glanced down, he saw the hole in his shoulder. He was punched again, and then a third time. Everything stopped. He was floating, hanging in the air. All was silence. He felt no pain, only relief. Relief from the terror. He saw the ground coming up to meet him and closed his eyes before the impact.

He opened them. He stared up at the white sky, at the dim sun hanging from a cord. He heard men wailing, whimpering, shouting out in pain. He heard angels; they talked softly, gently, reassuringly. They were the voices of mothers, sisters, sweethearts.

He looked at the sun that wasn't the sun but an electric lightbulb and considered its brilliance. Man had created light. Such inventiveness, he thought, was due to scientific progress but what of human progress? Why, he wondered, did humanity, with all our potential to create paradise, choose instead to unleash hell?

He stared at the sun and wept.


No comments:

Post a Comment