All quiet remained on the frontline. The rain of artillery replaced itself with normal rain, and the rivers of blood alongside the mountains of corpses became drenched. The blood thinned out, its red colouring slowly turning lighter and lighter.
A soldier wearing a cracked helmet looked upon this scenery. Where had he come? Was this hell, and had he died? But he couldn't have gone to hell. He still felt the absence of his left arm that was violently ripped from him thanks to an artillery shell, and he also felt the raindrops on his face.
The fog prevented him from seeing far. On his right, a corpse laid on the ground, half of its face violently blown off. Not even its gender could be identified in such a state.
