I Cant Take This Anymore
From somewhere below, a fellow rebel recognised the tormented figure and called out desperately, trying to pierce the veil of his stupor. "Come back!" he yelled, his voice hoarse with urgency. But his pleas fell on deaf ears, swallowed by the cacophony of war and the psychological abyss that had claimed the haunted man.
The chilling echo of artillery explosions had become a gruesome cadence for the besieged rebels at Smederevo. Each thunderous roar stripped away more of their resolve, as they clung to the battered walls, each dreading the next impact. Their attention was morbidly fixed on the lone, wandering figure, a doomed silhouette against the backdrop of devastation. Yet, despite their grim fascination, no one dared venture out to save him; the risk of stepping into the artillery's deadly aim was too great.