Comrade Kuzmin sat in the snow and held his belt tight. It seemed as if his belly was smoking. He was desperately trying to hold his guts from spilling. His breathing was gurgling and uneven.
Vanya observed comrade Kuzmin and wondered how come there is so little blood. Animals shed little blood, while humans bleed profusely. Maybe, comrade Kuzmin is a fat pig shaped to resemble head of the commissary.
- My son? - Kuzmin tried to plead with young Vanya.
- Yes, my father? - Coldly answered the youngster.
Shotgun was also smoking, but it's plumes were already dispersing while the fog before Kuzmin's eyes was drawing thicker and thicker...
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