The war continued… Things were ugly. Really ugly.
There were so many casualties. We had long run out of places to bury the bodies. And people to bury them.
So the dead piled up in the streets. Or what was left of them did. Some were picked off by scavengers. Others mysteriously disappeared. But many still remained. Or parts of them anyway.
The beheadings were especially gruesome. Kind of made a person wonder just what happened to all of the French aristocrats after the guillotine craze… Did their heads just litter the streets as well?
If they had meant to make a show of it, there would have been pikes. But no, there were just heads. Tossed off and staring blindly, their eyes distant and cold.
Where were the children playing? Perhaps they had grown up too fast. Perhaps they’d gone on to bigger and better and more monumental things.
Or perhaps they’d been conscripted.