If you were to ask me what I remember most about the horrific events that occurred during the war of 1939, I would not be able to respond. I only recall that vital day where my mortality was placed to the ultimate test. The day where I realized a soldier’s duty is only as good as his existence.

For thousands of us, the thought of ever returning home had become an illusion. We had become immersed into a life of brutality and inevitable pain. I do not remember what kept me going through the long years of violence. What I could recall, was the last time I ever saw Tom, my lifelong friend and military colleague. I remember hearing the fatal whistling blow of the enemy’s missile as it momentarily hung in mid-air. A sound that seemed to haul on in an eternal gust that sent chills up my spine. The pungent smell of gunfire and smoke lurked all around us. I was thrown into a scenery of mangled bodies and bloodied corpses at an early age of adolescence. I became even more frantic as I recognized the familiar faces that the carcasses contained. They were the faces that had once belonged to my militia brothers. As I baffled at the sight, more grenades viciously hit the ground causing massive trembles around me. I closed my eyes and let the memories of my hometown friends, my wholesome mother, and my sweet Laura take over me. I glanced up to the redden sky, as another whistling noise arose from above the smoke that enclosed me. I held my head up high and my rifle firmly as I had been taught. That was my last memory...