Last entry of the beginning beginning

It's about ten hours to the flight to Frankfurt. All things are packed and "It's a long way to Tipperary" is constantly sounding in my head. However, on the contrary to the men that went to the front in 1914, I feel no glory in it, no greatness. I can hear the shells exploding, the bodies drowning, the lone tree still standing. Body parts scattered around. Pieces of clothes. Dogs and horses drowned in the mud. Dead from shrapnel wounds. Once green fields filled with dark brown and red. I can hear women crying for their husbands, sons, brothers. I can see their red tears streaming from white eyes. I can see lead penetrating the Earth deeper and deeper. I can see it spreading across the area through the ground water...

But maybe only because of them I know that the only thing war brings is Death.

Maybe the souls of those solders, still lying in those fields and trying to catch their names flowing in the air of "the ones who haven't been found", will meet me there. And if they could, what would they say? "Tell them of us: for your tomorrow we gave out today"? "That's all that you could make of it?"? "As I look at you, I understand how worthless our deaths were"? Or maybe: "You have to try harder". "We, who lay here, want You to do better".

I wonder how would they perceive the world that we created...

My curiosity of what will I find there, is growing and taking over the reminiscences of fear of the unknown.