1- Livebloggers mfs getting killed a few days in.
2- "I give no fucks about veterans because they shouldn't have fought lol" mfs learning that sometimes you have no choice in that, and probably getting knee-deep into e-activism of "I am not a bad man" shit
3- Fuckers who tweet everything they do, exaggerating shit for favs.
4- Depressed lads getting deeper depressed.
5- A motherfuckers who blasts sigma male theme song through the speakers to demoralize the enemy
6- A motherfucker who blasts "Unknown Soldier" by The Doors before a good ol' SIW
I was silent back then. It was not them, it was just some online personas without faces that attacked me when I tried to mention my grandfather.
He was a soldier. He had no say in that. Sometimes you have to fight to survive. Sometimes accidents happen. Sometimes you believe that doing that is the thing that will protect you and your family.
I had mentioned that on a Twitter thread by a zoomer who was shitting on veterans. I had mentioned my grandfather, told her that no, not every soldier could know what would happen. He was an innocent man who did all he could do.
She called him a monster just because he had a gun and a finger to pull its trigger.
Hah, now the war is here. We are in a war. I'm with those fuckers, fighting side by side.
It's easy to talk shit.
I watch the new kid try to scrub the mud off his boots. He was brainwashed well back in the training, I guess. I watch him clean everything before I spit on his boots. He looks at me in disgust. Anger. That quickly disappears when he sees my face. Only fear is left.
I'll be humble enough to not call it a "strong reputation", but that's how it is. I am the old guy.
Our first interaction was when he told me that I had to cut my beard and hair. It was "not in compliance with the rules of the army". I told him to fuck off. What could they do? Send me to Russia? We were already in fuckin' Russia, what could be worse?
I say nothing to the kid today. I just lie down in my filth. There's a girl who's trying to determine how to eat the fucked-up MREs without puking out. I watch her choke on the first bite of her God-knows-what&beans.
"I think they should give us some... good food sometimes," she suggests.
"You ask for too much, lady."
"I don't know. A pack of Oreos could boost our spirits," she looks down.
Then, there's a young boy. He had blue hair that I personally chopped off while he was screaming the whole time. "I like my hair, it gives me confidence, and we need confidence to fight!" had been his reasoning. I had laughed like a motherfucker and said, "You need a fuckin' HEAD to stay the fuck alive, and you need to stay the fuck alive to fight." That bastard got no brain, and won't have a head if a sniper spots his neon hair. "What are you, a fuckin' bird tryna mate or some shit?"
The young boy, the ex-neon one, looks at the poor girl who holds her breath while downing food. "Oreos?" he says in disbelief. "Please tell me you're joking."
"Why would I be joking? Wouldn't you like some Oreos? I'd certainly be happier."
"You're disgusting," the boy says. "It's made with child labor. It's immoral."
"Kid," I get up, stretching."We are literally killing civilians here. I don't think you can talk 'bout morals 'n shit."
People are silent. I laugh.
We are the devils. We are the sinners. I hope Lord chooses to forgive us, but will the saints reject to ever lay their eyes upon us?
They tortured a boy just last week. We found his disfigured body. I made the zoomers bury him. They need to get used to this. They had the two-thousand-yard stare. Better to have it soon. Many of them haven't been in real combat. They need to get traumatized sooner so that they won't be fucked in the war. Or something like that.
Every time we have new recruits, I watch them mourn. The dead body is buried.
"He was my buddy," one cries. "Don't you feel sad?"
"You'll soon get rid of the emotions 'n shit," I shrug.
First, I get called a monster.
A few deaths later, I have more blank eyes. Soulless bodies standing with shovels and crosses in their hands. Mouths reciting prayers they barely know. Faces with dirt and blood, hollowed out. The ones who don't physically die will eventually spiritually die. It's a rule.
We had a few people joking, showing each other memes 'n shit. They don't do that anymore. They just shrug. They are empty. Their joy is dead. Everything they had once known is dead.
They are dead.
I can't help but smile. It's bitter, not full of revenge or anything like that. It's a sad smile. I watch another generation get fucked in front of my eyes. I can't help it. I could never help it. I watch them go from scared of death to angry at politicians to simply apathetic. Some beg for life as they die, they beg to God and then to anything and everything their eyes can see before their vision dies. Some, though, simply whisper "I knew it, but I wished I could survive" as they die.
I have seen some get broken by the war and kill civilians for fun. I caught one, hit him to the wall and punched him good. At night, though, a shadow hovered over me with a knife. An old college will not get fragged, and I didn't. No one knew what happened to him except for his buddies in crime.
A few... I lied to the others that the enemy kidnapped them or something. The truth was that they had pulled an ol' SIW on themselves. I kept it a secret to keep others from following their paths.
It's okay to lie sometimes.
And the war ends. We hear about the agreement or whatever the fuck it is.
"Will you die your hair once you get back home?" I ask the kid.
He looks at me with dead eyes. "I will paint the walls red," he says.
"You can eat Oreos now," I say to the girl.
She says it doesn't matter.
No laughter. No songs. No dances. No joy.
They go back home.
They have no aim now. They will want nothing in their lives. Nothing fulfilled, nothing enjoyed. Empty shells of souls directed by what they thought their "alive" pasts would want them to do. Empty relationships, empty families, kept secrets and dead affection.
No one criticizes my grandfather anymore, by the way. They respect him immensely. I don't tell his story often, anyway. But when I do, they bow their heads and exalt his bravery.
Am I glad, though? No, not at all. I saw an entire world die in the eyes of this youth. Nothing can be fixed anymore, a few generations have to die out.
Humanity never learnt. It never will.