Explore "Light" by Henri Barbusse on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I have not changed my place. I open my eyes. Have I been sleeping? I do not know. There is tranquil light now. It is evening or morning. My arms alone can tremble. I am enrooted like a distorted bush. My wound? It is that which glues me to the ground.
I succeed in raising my face, and the wet waves of space assail my eyes. Patiently I pick out of the earthy pallor which blends all things some foggy shoulders, some cloudy angles of elbows, some hand-like lacerations. I discern in the still circle which encloses me -- faces lying on the ground and dirty as feet, faces held out to the rain like vases, and holding stagnant tears.