X of Swords

A life in photographs. Here is the infant Sanjeev in sub-fusc; smiling with uncertain eyes, against the college walls. And then, here he is, blurred and serious, pushing through a crowd. This other one, just here, this is his first love and look how she smiles.
A corner away lies sorrow.
Here he is again, black-tied and bright-eyed, entering his final year while the world battens down its hatches. Here is a grin in a cafe, a scowl across a quad, a guffaw from the chair in his room; sharply attired, he descends into the City to join the serried pinstripes.
Five years pass. God falls. The bloodied shores call with bugle and fife. Here is the infant Sanjeev in combat fatigues, and the waves wash his corpse.