Stalingrad

the soldier. the pretty city girl. in a room of rust and patterned blood cover ash all in the riven air ash of city, ash of sacrifice, ash of soul "I came here a soldier. You have made a monster of me." he told her, in a voice as cancerously black and lost as any stygian pit frightened and quiet she spread supine, naked, shaped, shaded like gold mortar shells screaming all around digging holes