Drenched with tears, my beaten and battered jacket lays loosely on my shoulders.
Only 13 I drop to the floor sobbing, wishing for comfort.
No one else my age stands up on the battlefield.
Lamentable and lonely, I start thinking why?
Why did I come?
Why is this happening?
Why is this endless war so brutal, so violent?

Bodies lay thrown to the ground all around me.
Some there for minutes, some there for weeks.
The stench of rotting skin lingers in the air around me
When I get through this, if I get through this will I ever forget these smells these sights and tastes?
Will I ever be the same person who stupidly joined this organisation?
Each time I think about this one question always comes back to me……..
Why?