paul sits on the fire step along the trench line, you got here but a few weeks ago, your instructor said he expected you to die in exactly three weeks. paul sees you're scared and it reminds him of himself almost a year ago now when he joined the war with his friends. a thick sludge of ankle-deep blood and mud covers the floor and unknown bodies lay dead hidden by the murky water

paul, despite having limited food himself reaches over with a small peice of bread held lightly his withered and slender fingers that have been rotting since he witnessed his friend die within the first night of combat, his instructor told him he would live just a week but so fsr he has survived 10 months, yet, sometimes Paul wishes his instructor was correct..

“essen sie” «eat»