I wanted to bone him, but meh. Here is a Remark-like

"I'm sitting by a small campfire, having made a lonely halt. I'm making coffee for myself, I'm wearing a field uniform, and a rifle is neatly lying by a tree."

Hey, partner. The last ducks are flying south, I decided to treat myself to a bird for the evening.

"I invite a man to the campfire, and he elegantly sits down."

Well, I do not know how peaceful it is here. There are bears on the riverbed a couple of kilometers away. I went there a couple of times, but I don't like to take special risks for a big skin.

"I silently watch the bonfire, and then I look at you. You look like I want to come out for a revelation, even though I don't know you."

..

Nature took care of me when I was at the bottom, sir.

Have you probably heard about the Evening Town Broadcast? I've always lived in the city and worked for this newspaper, and when the damn war started, I went to the front as a correspondent to cover the latest events. I have never taken sides, and perhaps that is why our editorial board has become authoritative for our objective vision of the war.

"I sigh."

Dirty trenches, a pile of corpses on the approaches, the mixed smell of gunpowder and shit, because the soldiers did not have time to dig toilets in the trenches. To die from a direct hit by artillery would be the best fate, since it is not the fighting in the trenches that is terrible - but the slow madness in their intervals.

Veterans have their own ideas about entertainment. When officers forbid playing the guitar, and playing cards get wet and deteriorate due to humidity, ordinary soldiers go all out. Creative people make jewelry and toys out of rifle casings. If the diary runs out of space, the back of the pencil makes drawings directly on the earthen walls.

But, these are talented units. Untalented people, who have nothing behind their soul but aggression inflamed by propaganda, do the blackest thing. Hanging trench rats for stealing biscuits is also petty hooliganism. Younger soldiers with a feminine face are the most vulnerable group in the squad. When both, either by eloquence, manipulation, or coercion, their rectums become the most vulnerable place than their heads.

Imagine on the snow-white skin of a passive soldier's ass a mixture of feces, blood, human semen - and then, his frozen in mortal pain. He was already dead due to a ruptured intestine, hemorrhoids - and blood poisoning there.

"I'm sipping my coffee while you're looking at me in silence."

This is war. And I recorded this war.

I found solace, although it was not given to me on the first attempt.

After the war, I did not find the desire to work. The fee was meager compared to how much cabbage the people in the pots raked in my pictures. I couldn't sue them because there was a clause in my signed contract where all copyrights for my photos belonged to the publication I worked for. It was a punch in the gut.

I started drinking. Drinking a lot and in a black way. I've never had a wife and children, I'm still a little over 21. I drank a small fee, I drank the only house. I was blacklisted by more than half of the city's bars and liquor stores. When the money ran out, he went to drown himself in the river. I was saved by a passerby veteran who was constantly reading ETB. He had infinite respect for my bravery as a photographer - that's why he gave me one house in the forest to use. He handed me a rifle and told me to get game.

About a couple of months ago, he said that he had opened a couple of businesses in the city, and he didn't need a house, live as long as you want. I've been living like this ever since. The forest feeds me and allows me to exchange wooden things and meat for everything else.

"I finish my coffee, and I shake out the wet coffee mud into the fire."

Well, will you tell me your story? For I have already poured out my soul to you.