The raging drops against the thin glass sounded like a barrage of bullets in my brain. The constant echo of quick sniper fire. Tearing up the very fabric on the small amount of sanity I had left; if sanity is even a real concept, then I should be utterly mad by now.

It had been raining for ten minutes and thirty-seven seconds.

Thirty-eight.

Thirty-nine.

A car door slammed somewhere from the back of the house; a mortar round landing on a small village hut. Each step against rough gravel was a General giving a final warning before complete annihilation, but the calls only fall upon deaf ears.

A lock slowly turned; a rifleman cocking his gun for a final shot.

The knob turned and the thick wood slowly opened inward; the last of the final warnings. You’d be dead in thirty seconds.

I looked up, covering my face from the fire, trying to make out the Generals final syllable. I saw where the whites of his eyes should have been; red from the dirt and constant inhalation of smoke. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought he was going to call off the attack. Tell his gunners and infantry to retreat to share gathered recon. He lifted his hand, his index and middle fingers twitching for the rapid fire to cease.

The rain still beat against the window, reminding us that there was still other battles ensuing all around us, countless numbers of lives being lost in the noise.

No noise passed between us.

I pressed my back harder against the wall, straightening out my spine until the back of my head made contact with the windowsill.

It had been raining for eleven minutes and twenty-two seconds.

He lowered his fingers and grinned, a row of uneven, beer stained teeth greeting me with unforgiving judgment.

“Have chow done in fifteen minutes and you may get a larger ration tonight. Do you understand me?”

If I made any movement, the single shot of a sniper would be the last sound in my existence, so I sat ridged against the wall, unblinking and eyes focused on his smile.

“Superb. I’ll be waiting.”

He turned and trekked away from the battle, recalling his forces to rest and reload for the oncoming battle. I waited until he was out of my sight until I let out the breath I had been holding in since the mortar fire and relaxed my back against the wall. I had survived another confrontation with the enemy. It was a miracle.

“Oh, and Minseok?”

My muscles froze, but my eyes lifted to meet the tips of two of his dirty fingers. He smelled like gun powder and blood. He smelled like the most familiar thing in the world. He was the only thing I had ever hope to know in the constant war. He was my everyth—

“Bang.”

The sniper had fired and I was gone.