I remember being petrified as I watched the world fight her battles with bombs and destroying innocent civilians all while my grandfather was dying in hospice. It seemed like everything was coming to an end. Being a little over eleven didn’t help me understand; I was still mentally undeveloped. I thought it was my fault, and it killed me to sit back while the last few days Grandpa lived the world had to be so cruel. He left us all a few days after the declaration of war. He’d be devastated to know it hasn’t yet ended.
I am seventeen years old and trying to find my place in the world, but I am afraid of this world.
I hate war
But I can’t end it on my own.