Gentleman’s Game by Chrissy Byrne

I lie here with a mechanical bridge over my legs. The coarse wool blankets are thrown over the top of these frames of steel. ‘Act of God ‘ is what the priest says, but I call it the devil’s work in a foreign land.

I lie here with acceptance of the equipment. They use it to restore me to half the man I was before the war. The stalemate between leaders of war whilst working people try to restore position between countries and foreign allies.

I lie here in a dress code for the wounded. I look at the coat of arms on the wall, the ceiling above, and pray for the ā€˜Dā€™ to come take me. Our manly version of honour and pride destroyed hundreds of thousands of innocent lives.

I lie here and think about my wife and child who I have lost in this war of the world. This war is like no other. Men previously killed by gunpowder, now suffer artillery shells of destruction in farmers’ fields.

I lie here and think of the young men who never will return, lying in trenches and left to rot back into the ground. Yet, I remain an old man unable to move and stuck in this bed. The nose of the head cushioned to the unbearable pain, morphine injections and lucid dreams in the night, and still I fight to refrain from unsportsmanlike conduct, but a small separation must be maintained if I am to fight the war in my head.

By Chrissy Byrne