Pond

The pond is dark in the middle. It’s rimmed with ice. Cattails droop under frost. Goran lies on the bank, running out of blood. A knot of intestine is peeking out of the hole in his belly. He pats it back inside with his mittens, and spits up some of the blood in his mouth. He tastes metal.

The soldier stands over Goran and watches him gasp at the freezing air.

“Want help dying?”

Goran gurgles and spits.

“Really.”

He kicks his feet and tries to stand. He flops.

“Last chance. Want help?”

Goran nods.

“Sorry.”

The soldier walks away.