From Writhe’s journal:

Woke up early and ate a meager breakfast. Found out that a tour left from the hostel so I went to a cash station in the middle of the city, but it looked like someone had punched it because inside the screen was all cracked. I tried to find another one and failed. Walked quickly back to the hostel and fortunately found one on my way back. Two girls had made a reservation for the tour and I hoped that there would be an extra seat for me. The driver said he had one, and only one so I took it. We went to Flanders, a countryside where WWI battles were fought. Visited graveyards, monuments, bunkers, blast spots, and trenches. It was a very informative tour and really fun with lots of entertaining and descriptive stories. Went to a hill where Hitler was a messenger during the war. Messengers had an average life span of only 4 days. There was talk of trenches, mud, clay, shells, death, gas. blood, poppies, tunnels, espionage, lighting cigarettes, no man’s land, and underground explosions.
Farmers in this region constantly dig up artifacts from the war. Our driver passed around a bucket filled with old bullets and told us to take a few. I grabbed three. I made sure to gather a few poppies from Flanders Field and have them drying in the pages of my book.

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae, May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.