Through winding dark hallways, the priest walked. Piercing cadences of mothers wailing in lamentation echoed around the building.
Men lay neglected along the corridor, drenched in flowing blood and missing limbs. Many were dead.
He had been sent to distribute last rites, but the ward was overrun with asperity. The war was not just taking men in its viciousness, but women and children also.
Seeing the blackened corpse of an infant cradled by a mother, eyes struck vacant with grief, he realised he had not faith enough for this. With what goodness must God allow the innocent to suffer so?