- World War I.
The war has taken your family. Sleep-deprived soldiers sleep with guns and keep an eye on you. These people drug you with a grin, cause they got methods of keeping you clean, turning you into a another cog in the murder machine.
Damp basement, soaked in dust and fear. Food is brought. You reach for a spoon, but a guy with blond hair stops you, pointing to a strange, acrid shade of porridge.
– Hey, don't eat this porridge, don't you see what it looks like?
He takes your portion, tries it himself. A few minutes of silence - and a quiet piece of advice:
– If you are hurt or offended, then the wounds under your T-shirt will be their payment for everything they have done. Put on dark clothes. Show that you are not weak. They maybe leave you alone, **but not me. **