How many remember where they were when the war began on the 1st of September 1939?

I remember.

I should remember.

I started it.

My name is Robert Leroy Parker.

Brick walls towered over her. Decrepit staircases crowded about her. Nothing had changed. The line there, the lessons there, the rape there. Shouldn't the place be crimson with blood and black with shame?

Les essuie-glaces, d'un dynamisme consternant pour toute personne fatiguée, dégageaient la flotte vers les autres véhicules : la vie est un échange permanent.

The angry mob of villagers wield camera phones, the twenty-first century equivalent of pitchforks and flaming torches.

The line between him and the enemy had simultaneously blurred and solidified. Somehow, while perhaps it shouldn't have, this thought provided a strange sense of peace.

Just when you think this war has taken everything you loved, you meet someone and realize that somehow you still have more to give.