"...several days ago, the Kaiser had abdicated the throne, went off to the Netherlands and later, one of our politicians proclaimed that we are a republic. Yet the bigger question is, and with how loose support is nowadays, how will the government function properly?" A man spoke to a few others, of whom had their heads and torso's facing each other. They all wore long coats, each wearing a dull color of picking; it was cold that morning...
"What type of republic are we anyhow? Liebknecht said that we are a socialist republic..." Another said thereafter the first as I walked past him. I have paid no attention to the nonsensical 'news' I have heard since I had come back from the war. Too bad I've forgotten what it was to walk on a concrete pavement that now, whenever I extend my legs, it gives the feel that I am walking on ice. My days had been spent in the mud-driven trenches for so long, I grew used to slipping and sliding in mud since the outset of trench warfare. I had indeed forgotten what it was like to walk on dry earth. Only on the days when we set foot on dry ground would I feel more encompassed to place my feet back in the mud in fear of falling over on my head.
One of the aforementioned persons then made a comment on the way how I walked, but I am not sure if it was made in a derogatory or complimentary tone. I stopped just before taking a turn and swiveled to stare at the group, expecting them to come forth and speak up on the matter. Yet, for a moment or two, they mumbled amongst themselves before I turned my torso to face theirs, signaling the seriousness of my resolve. Needless to say, they cowered, turning their backs on me whilst walking off to the next street: the looks of their faces flagged retreat.
The lack of disrespect for those who had fought in the war had started to grow more rampant with the young and immature, but this I have no reason to think why other than to assume they were attempting to rob me in broad daylight. Guessed they knew somehow I was a veteran of the war and I was none too afraid to rip their throats out of their necks if they dared lay a hand on me.
Turning about, I headed in the direction of a nearby café to drink some fresh coffee I had not the pleasure to taste in over four years. With only a few coins in my purse of which I acquired in the trenches when we traded items of worthless value to each other, I hesitated at first and stopped in my pace to glare at the coins for a long moment. A memory from long ago seeped, cutting deep into the abyss of my head, neither blinding nor fatiguing my conscious, but rather, kept impeding the sense of sadness and depression in my eyes that I almost lent a tear from my eyes. The coins will always remind me of a brave, upright comrade I had once beheld as a brother almost. I attempted to forget this sudden curse of remembrance, mustering strength in my legs to head to the café, cursing silently.
Course I shouldn't be so blind to say that the city itself was full of the ignorant young and old, widowed and unmarried, all weeping and downcast, for the war had effected all corners of society. 'To the victor go the spoils', I hear from the commotion all around me as I pass multiple rows of people giving eyes to me and those behind me when we pass by them, wondering who else to blame for the war. They all blamed Wilhelm -- now it's some other persons turn to have their hide scratched to no ends, whether they played a role in the conflict or not.
"You there." One man calls to me from the side, noticing that I still wore the standard issued uniform and boots. I stopped to turn my head to this fellow.
"How many years have you?" He then says.
"Since the beginning." I answer roughly.
"Tell me the secret to eternal life. Come now, you have seen the face of death, tell me on the premise to avoid it." He said in a sneering manner, to which I stared at him in the eye, clenching my right hand to form a fist. I would of socked him straight in the nose, had he not turned away realizing I gave no answer. We must of stared at each other for a good half minute before he broke eye contact. I then realized it was of no use to speak to anyone else regardless of age or orientation, now that the curse of cold-heartedness is on every heart. Again, I cursed, this time out loud for the others to hear me; my voice clear and crisp and full of heated hate.

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[DISCONTINUED] Kung Fu Panda [From Anarchy to Tranquility]
Adventure[Disclaimer: The cover art is partially mine. I do not own Kung Fu Panda, credits go to DreamWorks.] Scarred from the horrors of the Great War, devastated and heartbroken from humiliation, a German veteran named Biermann is discontent and emotionall...