The year is 1857. There is darkness all around. The silence is deafening, after the torturous sounds of shelling, screaming and wailing. This is the silence of the soul. A month has gone by like this and so have the men with whom he had shared food, shelter, laughter and sorrows. Of the 3,000 people seeking shelter about half are still alive the rest surrounded him in the form of mangled bodies and decomposing corpses. How he wants everything to end. How he wants some food and water. How he hopes for a white-light saviour.
