Exercise: Pearl Harbour . . .

The exercise was to spend half an hour playing a computer game of your choice

and then write a short piece as if you were actually there,

seeing it all with your own eye . . .

Chosen game: Medal of Honour, Pearl Harbour . . .

The stench of smoke is overpowering. All around me are small fires blazing away, and broken wiring sparking with each lazy swing. Despite the noise from outside, the gangways within the ship are almost silent. No longer is there the normal chatter and clanging of everyday life on board. A deathly eeriness lingers around every corner, and as I start to move through the porthole I notice the dead bodies littering my way.

A yell enters my ears and I realise that someone is calling me, beckoning me to follow them. Coughing the smoke from my lungs, I continue towards them. The rooms I pass are ablaze, the heat engulfing me as I struggle by, and I pray that I make it out alive.

Everything I knew has been destroyed by the explosion, and I approach another of its casualties. This time the sailor is still alive. He calls to me, pleading for me to help, but the man upfront continues to beckon, wanting me desperately to follow. Heavy with guilt, I turn and abandon the injured sailor, knowing only death waits for him.

As I follow my comrade into the remains of what used to be the galley, flames leap out at us. I jump back, trying to protect myself from it's searing heat. I see a fire extinguisher against the wall, and I go to it and pick it up. To get out of the ship alive, I have to battle the flames. The room fills with steam as I aim the extinguisher towards the burning source, and even though I feel temporarily blinded by it's brightness, I realise with relief that they are receding.

As I create a gap for myself to run through, my comrade yells once again. Looking through the smoke, I see a flight of stairs leading up and out to the deck. Racing onwards, I climb the stairs as quickly as I can, eager to be free from the polluted, sizzling confines below and to once again fill my lungs with the clean air that Pearl Harbour has to offer, but I freeze as I reach the top.

I soon realise that the horrors behind me were nothing compared to the ones in front of me.

The skies are black with thick smoke, and the stench of burning is just as strong as below. Ships are engulfed all about me, and the yells and cries and gunfire mixed with the roar of attacking aircraft are deafening. But these sights are short lived. A stray bullet from an over passing plane pierces me body, and I can't help but fall backwards down the stairwell and to my death . . .