Caked in No-Man’s-Land mud, ears still ringing from the explosion that took my leg—I haven’t yet realised its gone, there’s just a dull throb where it used to be—I blink shit from my eyes.
Jimmy lies next to me, a smile on his face. “It’s over, Lance,” he says, clear as day. “Isn’t the end of war beautiful?”
A mortar lands close by. We get showered in dirt again. “What’re ya talking about, y’dumbfuck?”
I look over. He’s long gone; his brains are seeping into the mud.
“Only the dead have seen the end of war,” he whispers.
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