1 A book to humour myself

He, would see the soldiers in their battered and tattered armour, as they marched back to their barracks. One could smell the pungent scent of dried blood on them as they walked pass. And if one was able to peer under their helmets, they would see the weary expressions that were plastered on their faces. Their faces seem to tell a story, one about the many dangers they faced, the comrades they left behind, the men they had slaughtered in cold blood...

It was far from the glourious stories that veterans would spin up to hide the untold horrors they faced on the battlefield. And yet, many would only see their bodies trudging back to their barracks, apparently victorious against the enemy. Of course, only the victors would be able to make it back.

He, a boy, no older than 16, with jet black hair and those large eyes filled with curiosity and a unique shine that displayed his youth and vigor, had practically worshipped these people throughout his youth. He had aspired to be like the commanders in those tales that he would hear from retired soldiers. One's of soldiers climbing rapidly through the ranks after performing meritorious deeds for the country. And thus, at the age of 17, he had enlisted in the army, with a burning passion to one day earn enough to lead a fufilling life.

He had been training with a stick, that he imagined to be a spear, ever since he became 7. And yet, all these preparations could not prepare him for what he was about to face. One must know that his country was fighting on several fronts at the moment. They were desperately withstanding the onslaught of two different armies at the same time and had suffered numerous casualties. They needed some troops as fodder to pull a comeback of sorts. They were trained in using a spear for barely over a month before being sent onto the battlefield. If one were to eavesdrop on the conversation that was being held that very night before the recruits were sent onto the battlefield, one would hear the various instructors complaining about how utterly unprepared and untrained they were. It would be a surprise if even 10% of that group would be able to come back alive. And yet, the commander's words were final and their fate was sealed.

With a few thousand other soldiers, they were sent onto the battlefield and placed on the frontlines. As they faced off against the armies of the enemy countries, a sense of dread loomed over them. But alas, they had no choice but charge onwards. The entire battle was just so chaotic. A random spear could just come stabbing your way for no reason. And he, who had never once took a life before was forced to do so today. His tactic was simple, stab towards whoever was wearing a different colour and avoid getting stabbed. And as he faced the shock of killing a man for the first time, with that shock rooting him to the ground for a mere second, someone else stabbed him in the back. And his body crumpled to the ground, as it slowly slipped off the spear. Blood seeped out from that gapping wound as his rather short life flashed across his very eyes. It was as if he could still hear the voice of his mother telling him not to leave, the ever soothing voice of his mother, singing him to sleep, as his eyes closed for the last time. There, among countless other bodies, lay his corpse. He was after all, just another unknown soldier that died on the battlefield. His life, was just another cliche in this ever changing world and he was doomed, to never have his name heard or remembered.

His country lost. Even if he did survive, he would go back to find nothing. His village razed to the ground with the smell of age old corpses lingering in the air. Such was the fate of those that were too powerless to leave even a small ripple.