The battlefield is coated with thick red blood. Bodies lay scattered across the ground to no end as far as I can see.
What is remaining of my army stands behind me awaiting orders. I look down at the gloves that cover my hands, now spotted with red. In one swift movement, I slip one glove off the stare at my hand. Clean, untouched by my enemies' blood, but still, dirty. Like the weight of all the blood shed on this field has been placed upon my shoulders.
I signal for my troops to move out, as I see no movement from any of the people who are still splattered against the earth.
Sure, we won this battle. For what price?
They have families, children. It hurts me inside to know that we were sent out here to mass murder thousands of people. It doesn't seem fair.
War never changes.
But what does change, battle by battle, is the amount of heart you put into the battle. The reason you fight.
For freedom, in defense, until you stop caring what battles you fight or what war you are in.
