But then, that was the problem with pretty toy stitches. When real life got hold of them, they always tore out.
You couldn’t live close to war and not have it grab you eventually.
Maggot twitch, some people called it. If you’d seen much of the war, you had it. Some more. Some less. But everybody had it.
Her face was smeared with mud and blood and ash. Just another bit of debris in the wreckage of war.