“They didn’t kill you, so you killed them,” Seryoga says. “It’s war.” Seryoga is right. It is that simple: we won because they died and we didn’t. I take another gulp from the mug, but it still does not convince me that I won. I don’t feel like a winner. The vodka may have cleansed my insides, but on the outside, I reek of exploded guts, shattered bones, and dried blood. I feel like a butcher.
