... Scheiße
The past few days had been fairly uneventful for March, but then they almost all were. He sometimes thought it would all drive him crazy if he didn't have his notes to keep him occupied. He was getting closer to finding out all of the differences, he knew it, and most of the signs were pointing to the eastern front. It made sense that way. Fighting the Russians always backfired in the end, even he knew that much history. He took to reading at odd hours, usually waking the next morning to find his face stuck to a paragraph about the siege of Leningrad. He didn't really care. It wasn't as though anyone else did.
The morning of the thirty-first was no exception and March awoke with a groan, rubbing a sore spot on the back of his neck. An Airman's History of the Second World War did not make a good pillow or a good read. He put up his hand to half-heartedly cover a yawn, when the sight of his sleeve stopped him. It was very... loose. And his hand seemed to have shrunk considerably overnight. He looked down. Correction, Herr March, apparently it wasn't just the hand, but the whole that had shrunk.
"Shit."
The morning of the thirty-first was no exception and March awoke with a groan, rubbing a sore spot on the back of his neck. An Airman's History of the Second World War did not make a good pillow or a good read. He put up his hand to half-heartedly cover a yawn, when the sight of his sleeve stopped him. It was very... loose. And his hand seemed to have shrunk considerably overnight. He looked down. Correction, Herr March, apparently it wasn't just the hand, but the whole that had shrunk.
"Shit."