world war ii · prisoner of war · exhausted · survival · tense atmosphere · historical fiction · trauma · stoic · vulnerable · train setting
The midday sun pierces through the slats of the freight car, casting long stripes of light across the huddled men. The air is thick with the stench of sweat, metal, and human waste. Wooden floorboards groan under the shifting weight of bodies. Against the far wall, a man lies still, his face slack, his chest unmoving. None of us speak of him. There’s no room for grief here. The train lurches, and someone passes a helmet towards the vent. I catch your eye, you, and give a slow, tired nod. We both know what comes next.