War is such an ugly word, just the very sound of it. I wonder if the people who made words thought about what the words sounded like when they chose them.
The people who talk about war have never been in one. The people who have been in one don’t talk about it. It’s ironic, but it proves a point.
If something is so terrible people who experience it don’t mention it, why do we view it as insignificant?
My name is Zach Lawrence and I’ve been in a war. Only, I’ll tell you about it.
Imagine with me, if you will, the person who is closest to you. Even better, imagine someone young and innocent. Say your own child, or your sibling, or your nephew.
Imagine their body twisted into a shape that no human should ever be in, contorted into an unnatural exhibition. The precious red blood that keeps them alive is now draining out and staining their skin and clothes. Those bright eyes, peering out into the world with hope and understanding, are now blurred and dead. You don’t know what dead eyes look like because you’ve never seen them but I have.
One thing that will remain in your vision, if all else fails to revolt you, is the vulture perched on top of the body, peeling away the flesh to find its dinner. The precious child, once loved and treasured, is now reduced to a decaying meal. That’s war, in case you were wondering.
You’ll vomit then, an acidic mixture of your last meal and your naive view of the world will come spewing out of your mouth in front of you.
That’s what wonderful war brings.
“The soldier is a hero who brings others freedom,” people remind you. Do you feel free enough yet?
