War. The single worst thing ever created by man. To the
masses, those who do not see it first-hand, do not truly
experience it, war is just a board game, a way for the
presidents and ministers and chancellors to settle a petty
dispute. To those people an army is just a number, a solider a
faceless uniform. To those people war is just another thing to
be noted down for the history books.
But then there are those who do go to war. The delusional
ones go willingly, dreaming of grandeur and glory, of fighting
for their country, of medals and endless celebration. The
sane ones are forced; they dream only of a quiet life. I was
not one of the sane ones.
Even the most delusional recruits are changed by war. To a
solider war is a terrifying thing. Each second is a year, a year
of nothing but darkness and deafening noise. And you pray to
God each of those seconds isn’t your last. And God doesn’t
always answer those prayers. I realised that quick enough.
The ones who survive are considered the “lucky ones”. I
certainly wouldn’t call myself lucky. No matter how much
praise, recognition or medals I get, it will never be worth the
atrocities I saw and the scars they left me with.
To the masses, those who do not see it first-hand, do not
truly experience it, war is a battle between good and evil.
There is no good or evil in war.
There is only death.