Day twenty after the defeat at Waterloo.
I thought I was dead, and the Russians must have also.
I don’t know how I could have lost tracks of an entire army, but i did.
The snow blanketed the entire world anew.
One morning I tried to eat pine needles, they are neither good nor nutritious.
If it were spring, I could have eaten grass.
If I weren’t so weak, or the dogs who ate dead soldiers weren’t so fast.
If I hadn’t have joined the army.
If I weren’t french. If I had food.

It must have been a holiday, because student weren’t at the school.
Young future doctors at home with their families weren’t in labs.
I couldn’t believe the feast.
I thought it was a funny coincidence, that my ruined black frostbitten hands, pulled perfect yellow hands, from alcohol jars on Christmas day.
My frozen crushed heart soared at the feast of friends before me.
The say that in primitive armies,they eat the hearts of their enemies for strength, I pulled my enemies parts from jars, for the same reason.