"War, It's not about what's right. It's about what's left."

September 7th 19xxMy name, my age, and title; tout ensemble of this is of comminuted importance. But like a shot I indispensability to tell you my novel; a story not only if of me, exactly also those of many each(prenominal) of whom have been conveniently conquer thought death. We often bewilder our lives for granted especially when were young. We ring were going to live forever. But, from unrivaled moment to the next, nobody k in a flashs what depart happen. A person could be alive and well maven moment and dead the next, so why then do young men and women from all around the world free take up harness during contend? As I think this I muzzle at myself, not because I find it comical scarcely because I was one of those. Those rattlepated young men blind by the fancies, the promises and glorification of war. At the age of 18 I had thought littlely joined the war against terrorism and as a Singhalese it was the notwithstanding cheek I had at the time. tierce ye ars had passed and I had make mediocre jobs, mostly exponent work as I had been ill fit to be out on the so called ?battlefield?. I judge battlefield now but all that changed the moment I was appointed as a major in the ranks. My intent which had been on an old pretermit book on a shelf had been opened again and rewritten with the many atrocities around me, only this time in the alliance of both my people and that of Tamils. My life, which had constantly been inconvenienceted in black and white, now k wise the raw pain and intensity of that fierce blood as is covered the new pages of my life. The battlefield as I once called it was nothing less than the slaughter phratry I had... If you want to get a full essay, allege it on our website: BestEssayCheap.com

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