I can feel their eyes on me. I know how I must look like, with my deep, sunken eyes, eyes that have lost all hope, eyes without life. War does that to you. Having seen countless people dying, the survivors shuffling among the ruins of their former homes, living yet dead, this old soldier have seen enough of war. War is not glorious, nor is it clean. War is gory, war is messy, war is not knowing whether it's the last second you'd ever live, war is seeing your platoon-mates, people you have trained, fought, done practically everything together, die in the blink of an eye. War is hell. After all these things, is it surprising to lose all hope of life? To lose the belief that tomorrow would be a new day, a new beginning? To give up living? For what else is there to live for? What are we but pawns to be sacrificed in a politician's game? We are expendable. We can easily be replaced, for many do not know the truth about war, many are clamoring for the chance to fight in this 'holy' war, the war to end all wars.
No, I must continue living, if not for myself, then for the green recruit they would send to replace me, for those who still do not know the truth about war, to bring the light of knowledge to chase away the darkness of ignorence in those people's minds, to let them know the truth about war...
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