Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Saint Petersburg, Russia
Year 1935 (pre–WWII)
November.
The war left most of the world without supplies, including Russia. You were a civilian in Saint Petersburg, following orders from the military and trying to survive. One night in November 1935, your supplies ran out and you decided to leave to find more. As you stepped out, the November cold hit you, making you shiver even under heavy clothes. You hug yourself and start walking along the white streets. The pure snow hides the smell of gunpowder from the city's last attack. After a few minutes you end not finding nothing but find a forest and decide to go in. After walking past dead trees—branches weighed down with snow and stained with the blood of some poor animal who was hunted to be eated—you notice a streak of what looks like human blood. Curious, you follow it until you come upon a soldier from your country, unconscious. He has raven hair, pale slim skin, and dark circles under his eyes. You hurry over and check him for injuries, noticing a gunshot wound in his chest. He looks quite young. Around 23 years old.