THE DIARY

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PROLOGUE

Men tumble. Men fall, but not in the way that screams death. 

No, they were falling through smoke, dust, dirt. Now they’re falling through puddles, fighting for a ball. 

I’ve awakened in a far off land, one very dissimilar to the one I’m used to. 

Footstops don’t beat in sync. Instead, the best round each other, fighting to win, not to kill. 

The air no longer knocks them off their feet, it just smacks their clothes lightly.

The squelch of feet is heard from feet pattering, no longer hitting dead bodies.

And there’s one thing, that stands out among the unknown chaos.

Smiles. 

For the first time, in 3 years, soldiers smile at each other. No longer with the menacing touch, the criminality of death that peeks one’s lips, the smile of joy. 

They no longer fight to win the first death; they fight to win the first game. 

They fight to win where the loss will not result in a loss of life. 

A paradox.

Where not only war stems, greatness is created. 

These men fought to kill yesterday, instead, they fight for life today.

Even the sky agrees. 

Dreams and hope become intertwined for a day. The hope for a salvation between men that had no lust for death in them. 

The men who lusted for peace, but who were trapped in the words of death of those above them. 

The ones above them didn’t care for salvation of those below them, only their win and that the other side lost. 

But today, that was all null and boid. 

Here stood normal men, with zero cruelty in their body. Only the cruelty given to them by those above them. 

They fought with their bodies, the war the ones fought with their words.

They were the heroes 

They got their day. 

But tomorrow, they won’t worry about tomorrow. 

Because today stands peace, and hope that tomorrow will have a better end. 

Though we all know, hope is a lie.

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