IRAQ. Mosul. 2006. An American soldier inspects the corpse of an Iraqi killed in a firefight a few minutes before.
The top half of his head was strewn in pieces on the wall and ground. His legs were locked
in mid-stride. He had raised his hand to protect his face as he was shot. The corpse had the
complexion and rigidity of a destroyed mannequin. It seemed impossible that he’d ever been
alive at all. The soldiers searching the house found whatever reasons they could to pass by the
room and stare at the body. One American soldier stood away from the others, looking downward
and breathing heavily. He shook his head and murmured inaudibly. He’d been the one, another
soldier whispered to me, who pulled the trigger. “Shot the Iraqi’s head to pieces.”