It’s just the first day, and he has already seen that amount of deaths.
He wears it on a necklace, hoping that it will somehow save all of them.
No survivors were left.
half of his squadron are in pieces, somewhere in the dust of a fallen city.
He never misses, his hands never shake.
No one knows.
He wants to go home.
Clear this city in three minutes.
waiting for a messiah that will never come.
he knows children should not be collateral damage.
he just tried to spare.
In this mad world, sometimes, don’t we all wonder, what are we fighting for? War is a cruel artist, splattering the ground with gruesome shades of crimson. And yet, we still revere it.