For more then a month I have watch the young soldier walk up and down the trenches carrying his lantern. Never once did I assume there was anything unusual about a soldier walking around. This night the sun had faded early and I laid there against the trench wall, Enfield rifle in hand looking out over the nomans land that separated us from the Huns. I spotted a flair flying above the field and nearly missed the scream of a shell falling from the sky. The shell exploded near me, the blast of air nocking me unconscious. When I woke up the next day I asked the Commanding officer what happened to the young soldier with the lantern. He asked me to describe the young soldier, but when I finished he stiffened.
That young soldier was killed at the beginning of the war!” He stated before dismissing me.
I walked back to my station in the trench and dropped back into my usual place. How could he be dead when I have seen him since I arrived.
“You know why!” my companion said as he sat down beside me, ” Ghost like us walk the battle field never finding peace.”