My dear companions, my band of brothers,
10 years ago, there was a great war. Every one of us was to be thrown to the front, confronted with some 750 enemies. Day by day, we polished our fighting skills, as we knew the more enemies we kill, the greater opportunity we will get for promotion to a higher level, which, we thought at that time, is highly relevant to a more promising future and therefore, a happier life.
A few of us didn’t give it a thought. “This isn’t my war anyway.” They made unreasonable decisions (at least in the eyes of the rest), saying farewell to the troop before the war. You might say, they couldn’t make it so they fled; or you could say, they were brave enough to embrace a more dynamic life that we never imagine.
In the troop, we are made into killing machines. When the war was over, some of us found that they couldn’t live without its impact, as if they are born soldiers, as if it is a gift to them – like part of their life. For years, they have been wandering in an unreal world full of memory, where they receive recognition, like they did in their golden age.
They said when they were young soldiers, “No lesson. No exam. Gory, gory, what a hell of way to die. He ain’t gonna jump no more.” However, when these dreams all come true, they find they have nothing else to do.