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Psychological hell.

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    Multiple startled and injured soldiers were planted vulnerably across the whole battlefield; dressed in leafy dark uniforms used as camouflages against our enemies were now painted with cerise blood. What were we fighting for? This battle has no morale. An automatic machine gun gave me comfort; I was clutched in cover, cowardly. My face bore a grim facial expression. During the time I wasn’t thinking straight, I was fighting for my country, my enemies were my enemies and I had to eliminate them. All the members of my team had smiles across their lips; the grins abandoned them as the company of the enemy emerged from the far mist. I exposed myself out of cover, semi-automatic pistol in hand, I saw my enemy. A burst of bullets blasted into my enemies’ torso, he collapsed onto the dusky sand defencelessly. Towering over him, I could see the remorse perceptible in his eyes, he pleaded for mercy. I was playing the role of God, I chose if he survived or not. Squeezing trigger rapidly, the gun-fire progressively entered his forehead, captivating away his life. Regret and mistakes is what an average human being would of felt, but I didn’t at the time. I rushed back to cover; adrenaline shot right through me. This was the survival of the fittest. My tortured senses protested, nose was assaulted with atrocious odours which emitted from the bullet ridden corpses, my eyes were visualising hell, machine gun fire and explosives busted my ear drums. Bullets frantically swarmed above my head, I took this as a warning and returned to cover cowardly. A bomb detonated, a horde of mud flew across the foggy skies, and battered limbs were around me. My simple hoary semi-automatic pistol destroyed innocent flesh repeatedly. At the time I felt invincible, nobody could murder me. Remaining in cover; echoes of cries and war shouts bordered the unspeakable battle-field. Warning shots flooded the sky. A decapitated head coasted above my shuddering body and thumped onto the opaque floor; chunky puke poured down the side of my murky mouth. My knees felt weak, arms were hefty and vomit was already on my uniform already. The sympathy of sounds was seamlessly morphing into a ridiculous melody. Remorse and sympathy jolted in promptly, flashbacks of the innocent young individual I executed continued to percolate through my thoughts. Cries of indignation lost were heard throughout the whole time on the battlefield.
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