[Mister Saint]: 79.Contest Entries.The War Machine
From the Diary of Samuel Pickett, rifleman
"I'm like any other grunt, down here. Smelling the stink of dozens of unwashed men, in three day old uniforms... I'd puke my guts out if it weren't for the fact that it smells so much better than cordite, the smell of dead men. This war, this stupid conflict with the Mexicans is neither our fault or theirs, just... a mutual act of stupidity. And now men, good men and bad, are dying for it. It's the same story in every age... a few people in seats of power decide that they want something, and men like me are sent to fetch it for them. To do that... I have to extinguish the life of someone who might save someone else's somebody. Someone who might have been a great leader at some point. I have to kill them, for no other reason than because they work for someone who my bosses don't like. Damn politicians... damn 'em all. I'm a Texan, and I don't appreciate the way the Mexicans think we're their property, but I never wanted to kill them. Tomorrow we're going on another godless raid, and there's a damn fine chance that I won't make it out. I'm a rifleman. I'm a target. So know this, whoever you are reading my diary. War is the worst in a collection of horrible human traits... it brings us all to the lowest level, and no one ever really benefits. Life is too short anyway, but... are we really in such a hurry to make the end come?"
"War is the devil's playground, and despair is the only game he knows. Don't ever forget that. War is when God decides to take a nap."