I stabbed a man to death with my bayonet. At first he fell forwards, reaching his hand to my shoulder, then he fell backwards, looking into the sky.

  The last thing the man at my feet said was “I love you, Merry Christmas.”.

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  Maybe all the blood and dust in the air finally hit his eyes and he lost sight of where he really was.

  Maybe the stars hanging above him looked like the ornaments on his tree back home and he was just a small kid again looking up at them.