Yes. The sweet stench of death. I know it all too well, and now it comes for me.

But what happens next? That has always been on my mind. Shall the good deeds and defenses save me from the doom that follows me? Or not? Shall I go to paradise or elsewhere? Shall a waste my soul away? Will it be consumed by the darkness? Or have I done enough?

Those men in the trenches, fate should know that I didn’t mean to kill them so brutally. Those gunshots fired in the mist. Those leathery faces in the gravel and smoke. They still haunt me. But is my paranoia enough to forgive me?

I never learned their names, I don’t remember some of their faces, I didn’t find their families to send my condolences. How could I forgive myself, even though others forgave me?

Am I murderer, or a defender?

What has war done to me?