Screams of dying men and women fill my dirty ears. They beg for help, but unironicaly no one comes to save them, the men, women, or children they thought to come home to, never to see their eyes again. Never to hear their heartwarming voices or see the whites of their eyes, that's the irony of being in war. I walk through the people shooting at eachother missing dead, and alive bodies as I step. Rubble and flying chunks of dirt just barley missing my head. "Rose duck!" One of them yells to me, probably warning me of an oncoming bullet. But without hesitation I attemt turn and shoot that person down, not feeling hurt as I do. But this time, the time that God thought it was right for me to me him, I miss. The bullet hits me right below my colarbone near my heart. Warm dark-red blood fills the fabric of my shirt. I fall to the ground. Though I have been tough through this war, its time for me to man down. I salute and with that I fall into a sleep that I will not wake from. Goodbye Mom, Dad. Lucy and Nick, my children. Have a nice life. Thoes are the words I say as I make my way to the light I have waited for forever.
