Part I
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I walked aimlessly along the calm river. The forests on both sides of the river were eerily quiet, not even a bug to be heard. Snow-white petals floated on the calm surface of the water. It was a cloudy day, with thick clouds so heavy they made it hard to breathe.
I don't want to go back to that terrifying, dark, damp inferno and squeeze in with a bunch of people who are as good as dead. Two days ago, I crossed the no man's land and came to a wasteland. Those stone houses were all dilapidated, with burn marks on the surface. Those people really don't feel any pain.
Today I was lucky and found the river they had mentioned. The water was clean, and I hadn't had a drink in two days, so I was parched. I lay down by the river and drank my fill. That wasn't enough, so I went to a riverbank and jumped into the calm little river. It was so cool and comfortable. If only I could do this every day. But I knew I couldn't stay here for long. Who knows, maybe this forest would also be destroyed by those people. I filled my water bottle and continued downstream.
My mind was blank, and the pain from the past two days had vanished, replaced by a strange illusion that they were chasing me. People on both sides are chasing me.
As the sky grew dark, I was about to rest when I looked into the depths of the forest. Through the hazy mist, I saw a huge, strange, twisted silhouette. I knew for certain that it wasn't a tree. If it was a house, could I still spend the night inside? I thought. I was a bit tired, but I dragged myself over to this thing. Sure enough, it was a building—a Gothic church. Who knows why such a thing was in the forest. The church doors were wide open, though the interior was pitch-black. I turned on my survival light. The interior was beautifully decorated, with exquisite murals on the walls depicting Adam and Eve, the Virgin Mary, the Crucifixion of Jesus, and the Last Supper.
The candles on the chandelier had melted away, but the seats were unusually clean. Even the priest's pulpit and the colorful stained glass windows looked brand new. But there was no sign of life here.
The church was eerily quiet. It felt as if I had entered a void. I turned off the lights, and it was so dark I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. Sleepiness overcame me, and I dozed off on the bench. I don't know how long I slept, but when I woke up groggily, it was still pitch black around me. I turned on my small flashlight, intending to continue exploring the church, but I tripped twice. I stumbled and opened a door. Suddenly, I realized it was a confessional.
I smiled. Out of sheer boredom, coupled with dizziness, I rambled on in a daze. I began to talk to myself in the cramped confessional booth.
At that moment, I heard the priest speaking from the other side of the confessional: “My child, you must have sinned.”
I suddenly woke up. I replied subconsciously, “That's not a sin.”
The priest continued: “You must have sinned. My child.”
This made me feel a little less nervous. I wondered how he could know what I had done. A vague sense of guilt welled up inside me, but I kept reminding myself that it wasn't a sinful thing to do. I was not guilty. I smiled smugly, thinking that the pastor had not broken through my psychological defenses. Just as I was feeling smug, I heard the pastor repeat the same sentence: “You must have sinned. My child.”
No matter how I tried to explain that I hadn't done anything wrong, that damned priest kept insisting that I was guilty. I couldn't take it anymore. I started begging him to stop. He ignored me, even letting out a sinister laugh. That sound will haunt me for the rest of my life. Like a sorcerer, he seemed to see through the partition of this cramped confessional, piercing through my skull, burrowing into my mind. I felt terrible and wanted to cry.
I was helpless and felt extremely guilty, but I couldn't help laughing. Ha ha. I said, “Those two bastard Germans wouldn't listen to me. I was starving at the time and begged them to give me a can of food, but they refused. So I killed them!”
After I finished speaking, I exhaled deeply. I waited for the priest's response. But to my surprise, the guy didn't give me any response. This really makes me angry. I opened the confessional door and stepped out. The sky was already beginning to lighten. I roughly opened the door to the priest's room, and to my astonishment, there was no one inside, it is an empty room! I was terrified. Had I been talking to a ghost all this time? Was I going mad? I snapped out of it, grabbed my gun, and ran away as fast as I could, as if escaping from hell.
At that moment, the faint sound of singing and footsteps in the distance brought me back to my senses. I was so thirsty and hungry that I collapsed on the ground. The singing grew louder and closer. I couldn’t take it anymore. If it was that group of Germans again, I would smash their heads in. But then I thought, there were so many of them, I couldn’t possibly fight them all. I hid behind a tree on a small hill. Watching that group of people walk toward me with light steps, I grew angry, but my vision began to blur. I pulled out my gun and fired a shot at them. They scattered like startled wild horses. Unbeknownst to me, they were also armed and began firing wildly in my direction. I only have one bullet left. I smiled, cursed at them, then shoved the gun barrel into my mouth and pulled the trigger.
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Part II
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Soldier's identity report:
Name: Unknown (ID tag lost)
Nationality: French (but based on some items found on his person, he was likely a British soldier serving in the French army)
Affiliated with the French 137th Infantry Regiment (137e Régiment d’Infanterie)
Cause of death: Suicide
Discovery Report (as narrated by a French military commander, translated into English): “Our military unit was withdrawing from the Verdun front line. Due to the German army's collapse, their discipline had relaxed. This man was hiding behind a tree and firing at us. Our soldiers immediately returned fire, and he fired only one shot. I ordered a ceasefire. He fired another shot, and this time his own body rolled down. He had killed himself. None of us were injured.”
After being identified by soldiers who had served with him on the same front, no one can remember his name, but only remembered that he had brutally murdered two German prisoners of war. After that, no one saw him again.
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Décembre 17, 1916, Verdun
Ils ne passeront pas !
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