Man Of War

The morning sun peeking through the crest of the terrain. He crouches in the eroded trenches.
He wipes the mud and blood encrusted sweat off his forehead. His heart pounding and yet, no emotion is displayed upon his sunken face. He sees men, laying limp like sacks around him. Men who were friends. Men who were foes. Yet, no tears escape his baby blues. Even though he doesn't show it, he feels fear, sadness and defeat. But he has to carry forward. He has to follow the orders. He has to be the merciless killer. He has no choice.

The morning sun peeking through the crest of the terrain. He boards ship to go back to where he came from. He wipes the mud and blood encrusted sweat off his forehead. His heart pounding, every emotion is displayed upon his sunken face. He sees limp green sacks, filled with his friends. He is haunted from the past four years. Relieving tears escape his baby blues. But he has to move forward. He had to follow orders. He had to be the merciless killer. He had no choice.

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