The war ended sixteen year ago. I know that from the radio I kept. But still I fear the assault of land mines beneath my feet.

This fortress is safe. Lonely, but safe.

I live off rodents and birds I catch with my bayonet, I make a fire from the stones around me.

When it rarely rains I wash my clothes and my body.

My skin is broken and bloody.

I am malnourished and lonely, but still this is my home and it’s safe.

My fortress is safe.