Notebook

Prompt: Write about the calm after the battle

A low flying crow is carried North in the prevailing winds. It circles above, once, twice; before dropping from the sky to land gracefully among the others in a black scrapping heap. Sharp beaks tear at pink horse flesh; the crows caw at one another, fighting over the tastiest morsels of spoiled meat. The horse stares with sightless wide-eyes at the darkening sky. It's face contorted in a picture of terror as blood seeps into freshly churned soil, reaching deep into the cracks of craters left by cannon fire, inviting the worms up to feast.

The air feels strangely empty. Even as the icy wind excites the tendrils of hair that have escaped my ponytail the atmosphere is still. Maybe that's because it's so quiet. Not as in absence of noise - the crows ensure a fractured silence - but rather, absence of presence. It's just me and the crows out here in the cold.

I crouch over the body of a soldier whose uniform is so soaked with blood I can't tell whose side he's on; was on. He's lying face down in the dirt, mouth and blue eyes open. The back of his uniform is torn and if I rolled him onto his back I reckon I could see straight through him.

My breath is hot on my face. Trapped behind the surgeon's mask, I'm breathing in the same air I'm breathing out. I'm suffocating. But to take it off would be to take a risk and besides, I like to think it helps with the smell.

The soldier has got nothing in his back pockets so I reach round and wriggle my hand into the breast pocket of his coat. When I take my hand out again it's sticky with blood and holds the sum total of all his worthless belongings; a picture of a girl. Too young to be his mother, too old to be his daughter - since he's fairly young himself - a sister then, or some girl he said he loved before he left to join the army. I put the picture back where I found it next to his heart.

Such a waste.

The soldier may be young, but he's too old to be Nikolai so I have no issue turning him over to see his face in full - though I still hold my breath. I open the soldier's mouth and inspect the inside. He must have been of high status and good breeding because he's still got all his own teeth. I can't help the smile that tugs on the corner of my lips, finally a decent haul, but it soon turns to a grimace as I start to wrench his teeth out with pliers and find they're mostly rotten. That's the problem with the rich, too much sugar means they get tooth decay. In the end, only six of thirty two teeth are good enough to sell for a decent price. Still, I take the rest for my trouble, I already have a buyer in mind who has notoriously low standards.

I leave the body as I found it, face down in the dirt, and pick my way over to another lying almost parallel a few feet away. This soldier is on his back but as I approach I can see his face has been torn off. His jawbone is shattered. Not a single tooth left in his skull to pull out. This one isn't wearing a uniform which means he was either just a messenger or a rebel soldier. I pat down his pockets but don't bother to check inside, he has nothing on him.

Sometimes, when I see a body like this, I wonder if I've seen Nikolai out here somewhere, but never even realised it was him. I wonder if I've stolen from him, emptied his pockets and turned my nose up at the contents because it wasn't worth a penny. I wonder if I pulled out all his teeth. It's a thought that makes my stomach turn.

The wind picks up and brings with it the sickly-sweet stench of decay that used to make me retch my guts out but now it just makes me shudder. A smell that I'll never quite get used to, no matter how familiar. I adjust the surgeon's mask, attach the pliers back to my belt and move on.

The crows fly up, disturbed by my approach. Mistaking me as a hungry thief, they screech at me as I draw nearer to their feast. Seeing the bloated horse lying on its side, tongue caught behind it's bridle in a stifled scream, makes my lip curl. I have to breathe through my mouth, pressing the mask closer to my face as I pass. The ravenous crows settle again.