That’s it folks. Go home, the remaining few.
Be happy you made it. Take your medals, grow old and die peacefully. You have served your country.
That’s it isn’t it? The end. They didn’t die in pain on the battlefield. They have their lives left. They have years left, they know they’ve done a ‘good thing’, they can return to their families.
They have their lives left.
But they don’t. They didn’t survive the battlefield. A tiny part of their soul will always remain there. They’ve lost a part of themselves, through the horror they witnessed. They can’t truly be alive again. Every soldier to ‘make it’ dies a little whilst in ‘action’.
No one who hasn’t been there will be able to understand. I don’t understand. The closest I’ve ever got to a battlefield was watching the first few minutes of “Saving Private Ryan” and that was quite enough to convince me that war is a stupid babyish waste of time. Imagine, all those dead from every war ever, they could all have done great things. They could have been fathers, they could have stayed sons, married wives; they could have written books, made speeches, even gutted fish in Waitrose. They could have done and been whatever they chose.
Imagine, all those unborn babies who could have done the same.
Imagine all those wives, who will never get the chance to meet their perfect men.
Imagine the mothers, when they receive that letter telling them of their sons deaths. The brothers, the sisters, the children.
Imagine the time spent on war overall. Years and years. Imagine that time used for good. Imagine it used for happy things. Writing music, inventing new and wonderful objects. Science research. New art movements.
The money spent. It could have been used for schools. Education. The future. It could have been used to build hospitals, buy better medical equipment, it could have saved millions of lives in poor, poverty- drowning places, starving children in Africa.
But instead it was used to create monstrous weapons, used to kill millions. Every single person who died in war could have been something great.
Ask yourself, why do we go to war?
It’s because governments are ridiculous. They can never just sit down and sensibly talk out problems, it’s all “give us the land or we’ll discover a new bomb and blow you to hell” and then “Bring it on you mindless bastard”.
Why??? What the hell is the flipping point??
Even now, we are in war. Wasting time and lives on violence and misery.
I just don’t get it.
Why can’t people just sort it out properly?
And now, when they finally finish up a war. Clean up the bodies, send the other lot home.
Nothing is ever the same again for those survivors. Every morning when they wake up, they may have dreamt about the war they were in. Their best friends being blown to bits in front of them. The bloody rivers flowing by their trench. The screaming.
The world is different once you have seen that sort of thing.
Do you honestly think surviving a war is that easy?
At home, haunted constantly by memories. Do you think that all survivors lived long after going home?
No. Many committed suicide.
Took their own lives because they had been forced into a muddy trench by a stupid, childish government. They live through the war, are considered heroes, fight for years alongside countless corpses, to return to their former lives, but they can’t escape it.
So they kill themselves.
I remember, the first time it really struck home to me. I had this English teacher, right, and she was getting us to do a project on war.
I spent ages on mine. I so wanted it to be good. When finished I was proud of it.
Proud. Of something representing war in an amusing, child friendly fashion.
What was I thinking? I have no clue.
Miss showed us pictures, once she had taken in our projects, of one of the world wars. I distinctly remember the huge nausea that swept over me as I was thrown into the true horror. I had been told of course, of how bad it was. But still, it was like a massive slap in the face.
It was a picture of a person in one of those claw things, pickup machines or whatever. It was shovelling hundreds of bodies into a pit. But they didn’t look like humans. They were mutated into twisted, skeletal shapes, almost alien to my child mind. They looked almost purple, I could see the skin peeling and ripping, the bones sticking through so much I could see the sockets and nooks and crannies.
Miss also told me a story. I still think of it sometimes, and feel sick.
She told me about a young man, only a teenager, who was fighting in war. He trod on a mine, but didn’t die. He didn’t even get that badly injured. No bones broken. But, he flew a mighty long way through the sky, and what he didn’t realise was that his best friend had died a few days ago a little way off. Of course, being a few days old, the body was rotting.
This teenager fell through the sky and landed face first on his best friends body, which promptly exploded and filled his mouth with blood and organs.
He himself, he was a survivor.
But he never ate again. So he died anyway.
Every food put in front of him reminded him of his best friend. And so he starved to death.
Does that seem right to you? A fitting death for a teenager??
I am out of steam. But I hope I have got my point across.
War is a pile of crap. It is a complete waste in every single way, and it is just a tactic used by pathetic governments whom cannot bring themselves to talk something out without throwing a few punches in. I mean, what right does the government have to send so many people to die?
And that, my friends, is the end of.