The Trench: A Soldier’s Silent Story of War and Human Cost

A soldier’s trench experience, raw and silent, revealing the true cost of war beyond headlines.

Conceptual image representing the isolation and human cost of war from the trenches

Any ordinary day —so ordinary that I can barely remember it— they took us without warning. In less than an hour, we were traveling to a place where my story would begin, though at the time I didn’t know my silence would begin there as well.

We arrived on a brutally cold morning. My head ached, maybe from the weather change, maybe from sensing that something was wrong. Everything happened fast, and yet time seemed to freeze in every detail.

The nights were worse. We didn’t sleep from exhaustion; we slept because the cold pierced our bones and left no choice. Then came the first explosives. The gunfire. I woke with a start, scared. I won’t lie: I was afraid. I am a man, yes, but above all, I am human.

The rain turned the ground into mud, that mud that gets into your boots and reminds you constantly of where you are. Feet cold, almost frozen. The constant noise made it impossible to hear my comrade beside me. We were many, but each one of us was alone.

Hours passed, all the same. I wanted to touch my face, but I was shaking so much it scared me. I wondered how much longer I would be there. I gave no name to that place, because in that moment, it was simply the worst place to be.

One day, the gunfire stopped. I felt my body light. I don’t know if it was because it was all over, or because there was nothing left to feel. It was a strange sensation, hard to explain. I walked with my trench friends. Faces covered in mud. Lost gazes that I will never forget.

Today I see my mother come for a visit. I’m happy to see her. But I also feel pain, because her gaze is that of a mother who suffers for her child. She speaks to me, but she can’t hear me. And when she leaves, I try to tell her I love her, but she still cannot hear me.

I can only see a cross. Earth. A cross and earth. And much cold. That’s when I realized I was already dead. Not from the gunfire, not from the mud, not from the hours of cold. But because my voice could not reach what I loved most. And sometimes, in that silent distance, one understands that dying is not losing life, but losing the possibility of returning.

Published by THE GLOBAL REPORT | January 24, 2026