Filth, mud and cold water. That's what all my hopes and dreams came to. Lyin' motionless in the ruined road of a European country....I don't even remember which country. It's been months since we were sent here.

What's worse, it seems like its always dark here, always night. Makes it hard to get dry. Ah...dry and warm...that's what I want to be especially now, lying in the road getting soaked in a solution that's three parts water, one part dirt and one part human blood. It reeks here, but at least the rain stopped.

Just an hour ago this place was an explosion of action, death. This was the front line, I remember it like it was still goin' on. Screams in different languages, interrupted by the rattle of gunfire and the crash of explosions. People who I had seen alive and laughing just twenty minutes before suddenly stop existing and fall to the muddy street. I saw men blown apart by shrapnel and cut down by bullets, saw deaths both quick and slow. That was only an hour ago.

Now the only stirring was the cold wind, blowing in the smell of rotting and gunpowder, rising up clouds of soot from the dry areas and causing little waves in the many puddles that seemed to bleed up from the cracked pavement.

The frontline has moved on now, the Nazis charged ahead like an unstoppable machine, like a Nazi tank, just rolling and rolling. See, now even my thoughts and metaphors are plagued by thoughts of these murdering Krauts, as though my nightmares weren't enough already. The frontline had moved, but I'm still lying here, using my dead friends as soaked blankets to the bitter air.

But why? This madness, this nightmare, all this death....for what? For who? I'm a soldier and no one ever told me what was going on. Not since the beginning, then things were different. Then I was gonna "be a hero" I was going to stop the Nazi infestation. My folks were gonna be so proud.

That was then... Now we seemed to be losing, running and fleeing through shattered cities from tanks that never stopped rolling and soldiers who spoke flew a flag of blood red. Every time I look around there's something on fire. This must be Hell.

If there's a God, he'll end all of this. Who am I kidding, if there was a God none of this would have ever happened to begin with. I'll get up now, like I have had the luck to do so many times, and I'll follow the front line till the end. Either I go down or they go down, I don't care why this war is going on, I just want to go home. I'll get up now and keep fighting, not for my country, but in order to return to it, not for God, but in spite of him. Still alive, but for what?