"An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind." - Ghandi
Because
"Sometimes, the only thing it takes is one word. To make someone smile. To make someone cry. To make them laugh or sob, break apart or fly higher than ever before. To make peace or to make war. To start new journeys or end old ones. It just takes one word."
"Uncle? I want to hear it again." Joshua turns towards the sound of his nephew's voice wearily, working hard not to show it.
"Why must you hear it again?"
"So this time I can see it." Clarke sure was inquisitive, a visionary. His middle name was Curious, and there was no joking on that. Clark Curious Greening. Joshua settles back into his wicker chair, the creaking from the slowly rotting pine boards below him making a thunder fall in his ear. He had been prepared to heave himself up and over to the kitchen to make some grub for the kid, but if he insisted, then Joshua would do it.
"It was back in the war, I was just shy of twenty-five when I enlisted myself into the military."
"Which war?" Clarke interrupts on cue. Joshua withholds his sigh of impatience. The kid was only inquisitive.
"There've been so many wars, son, I don't remember. It was a big one; the country was split into civil war for the fifth time."
"Which side were you on?"
"The winning side. Now close that yap and listen!" Joshua snaps, letting his temper flare briefly. Clarke quiets down real quick and Joshua lets out a gust of air before apologizing for his outburst.
"It's okay uncle. Continue please?"
"It was my third battle, with the forty-second regiment of the Black Hawks, which was the special unit for our side. We were out in the grasslands, with stalks up to the waist. I was walking with my buddy, Sal, when we met the enemy." And, once more, he's taken back to that field. Back to where it all ended. And began.
The night was quiet, eerie but peaceful in a sense. The grass whispered together, as if they were sirens on the land instead of the sea. He knew that each of his comrades wanted to stop and listen. To bend their ear close and to hear, just maybe, their deepest desires or fatal flaw. They might learn the name of their true love or when they might die.
If they stopped, they would die. In this war, mines had been developed where only if you kept moving would you not be blown up. It was a trap, to constantly keep your enemy moving until he grew too tired to keep going and after that...well no one had to guess what happened after that.
"I can go on forever, Josh, how about you?" Sal flashed him a grin from his marching position next to him. Joshua only rolled his eyes, wishing with the last fiber of his boots that he could wipe at the greasy war paint on his left cheek where the sweat was making it run.
"It's only training, Sal."
"But we're in the actual warzone, never mind the fact we ain't on no actual mineline." Sal scoffs, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet while looking around. Joshua hoists his pack on his back to a more comfortable position and rolled his shoulders.
"You heard from your bro-"
"Don't talk about him." Joshua snaps on instinct. Sal quiets, thankfully, and they keep walking through the grass. The whispers get louder, if possible, and Joshua tenses at the ominous feeling that that brings.
"Sal" He's interrupted, pushing Sal far to the side as men in dark purple uniforms spring upright from the grass twenty feet away from their unit. Sal hits the ground hard, dodging the bullet meant for him. Joshua turns his attention back to the, now, battle zone. His men, his brothers and sisters, are locked with the enemy; their own black uniforms barely distinguishable from the purple of their foes. He leaves Sal behind, confident in the fact that he will have his back when he catches up, and wades into the chaos.
