He grasps the wood of his rifle, his comfort in a comfortless world. The bullets whiz by his head, eating the flesh of his compatriots. He takes deep breaths of the cold, damp air, longing for a place where the sun warms his skin. Each life lost around him is another day alone, another drunken rage. He feels nothing, just the cold steel of the trigger, he sees nothing, but people; people who want to hurt him, to hurt Julie. In the glint of every shell casing he sees Julie, in the eyes of every corpse. Julie’s name is written on each and every bullet he fires; every grenade he throws. He’s deaf to the outside world; he only can hear Julie reassuring him, telling him it will all be okay.