"Hello!" cried the young bomb crater enthusiastically.
"Hello," muttered the old bomb crater next to him.
"Have you been here for long?" asked the young bomb crater. The shell had only just struck, black smoke rose from the cavity.
"Far too long," sighed the old bomb crater, who was clearly not in the mood for conversation. The young bomb crater stopped talking.
It was quiet in the fields. A gentle breeze blew through the trees. They didn’t rustle, their splintered trunks looked desolate. A crow circled above the young bomb crater. It perched on the severed head of a soldier and pecked at an eye.
© Joris Vermassen