the stench of rotting bodies surrounds you, the machine gun fire continues to rattle on the distance, you are famished and your mouth is dry but your hands are covered in blood of French soldiers, you collapse to the ground narrowly missing your bayonet as you fall into the mud and sheathe the blade before propping the rifle up besides you

you struggle to rip the ration breadbag off your belt and the flies that cover a fresh nearby courpse that lay rotting on the ground besides you, his eye hanging out by a tread of tendon and his skull visible through his thin layer of skin and muscle though his right arm is blown off completely and still bleeds constantly, you wonder if this is what you look like, thin, disheveled, dead before death

NO TIME TO THINK, EAT.