la guerre

barbed_wire_fence_by_brime

The war was over. Each day thousands of refugees staggered into the camp. Iliodor lay on a cot in the stinking barracks.  When he coughed his body jerked, expelling bloody clots of phlegm.

“Who are you?” barked his interlocutor.

Iliodor coughed and spat into his face.

 

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