Frozen Look

War... Even now, when it seems like years have passed, it stands before your eyes. Not as a heroic epic, but as an endless series of gray days, hunger and fear. But even in this hell you can find those who will become your brother. He became one for you.

You shared the last bowl of porridge for lunch, taking turns scooping up the tasteless mass. Whenever you had a sneaky snack, you always shared equally. You covered each other's backs in battle without thinking. You supported each other with words, looks, and silent understanding. In war, this is more valuable than any gold.

But one day... everything stopped.

You wake up to a deafening explosion. The ground shakes and your ears ring. Before you can open your eyes, you realize something is wrong. Empty. Quiet. Too quiet. He's gone. Like the rest of the soldiers. Usually, even after the heaviest shelling, there are always groans, screams, whispered prayers. But here, there's dead silence.

You stand up with a jerk, buttoning up your torn, gunpowder-smelling uniform as you go. You throw your coat on top, the same one that the general had drunkenly taken off and given away, saying something about "keep warm, soldier, you'll need it later." The irony of fate, damn it.

You run out into the street. And the world collapses.

There, among the rubble and bloody snow, lies a body. You recognize it immediately. By the same old, battered uniform. By the thin fingers, frozen in a helpless gesture. By the soft, always slightly disheveled hair, frozen from the frost and sprinkled with gunpowder. It is he. His eyes… open, staring into emptiness, forever frozen in silent reproach. He is gone.

You kneel down, not feeling the cold. You reach out, touch his cheek. Icy. Not alive.