"I'm serious Kyle, there's honestly no reason they dont just march us over there and let us open fire on those bastard, God knows they have worst things coming to them then a bunch of armed teenagers," The boy in front of my spat out towards Kyle, over anxious and ready for a fight as always.
Kyle replied to him, calmly with a hint of anger building up at repeating the same point for what seemed like the thousandth time this night, "I'm not arguing whether or not they deserve it. Do you logically think they are going to send a bunch of students who have yet to graduate military school to fight this war for them? I know the army is desperate, but even the King knows he isnt powerful enough to hold back the revolt that would happen if he started sending us in to this war and the front lines. You can be an inconsiderate dick sometimes Bill." Kyle was never really friendly towards Bill. I always wondered how long it would be until one raised their rifle at the other and took a potshot.
"Look," I finally had enough of their arguing and began to chime in with my own opinion, "You both know it isn't a matter of if we will be sent in, but how long until we are. The army is losing, the front lines are being pushed closer to us every second and the troops are being sent in weaker and weaker everyday. The King has his best men patrolling the city like hawks to keep down the rumours of rebellion that are slowly starting to build, which is another matter that is not if it will happen, but when. You will get the bloodshed you crave Bill, and it will get you shot first, and you will get the rebellion you want Kyle, and the outcome of that and how it affects you all depends on who pulls the trigger that ends the life of our noble and valiant King" I was very straight forward and matter-of-fact in what I said, keeping a cool tone until the end that I spit out. We were quiet then for awhile, as the three of us clutched our rifles and sat gazing into the fire that blaze infront of us, the cool wind chilling our red-burnt skin and blowing our military uniforms in the wind. We sat there, the three of us, Bill, Kyle, and I, as we did most nights in our survival class. Bill, the blood hungry boy who was raised by soldiers and wanted nothing more then to be in the army, who dreamed of single-handedly killing everyone from Holy Island and then coming home and shooting King Richard in the head himself, and Kyle, my neighbour who dreamed of a world where we would be free, to go to regular school, to be at peace with Holy Island, of a world free of the King.
"You know something, Leah," Kyle said looking at me, "I don't think I will ever say this again, but I think I'd rather listen to Bill go on about the war again then hear your cheerful tone," he laughed and punched me in the arm. I raised my gun jokingly, "Go ahead and aim at me, with your accuracy you'll miss and hit Bill"
"It's safer to be infront of the gun with you, Leah." Bill joked. It was a joking truth between the two, and it was well known that I was not a great soldier. I was not like Bill and able to whip my gun around and fire off shot after shot without missing a target or being overcome by recoil, or like Kyle and able to take out a target from far away and then get to a safer place.
I laughed at their jokes "You know what, maybe I'll run off to Holy Island, join up with them instead of here. I'd probably misfire my gun and take out half their army." We continued joking for awhile then, Kyle, Bill, and I, making fun of our differences and our worries, laughing off the looming depression and misery that must have haunted more then just me.
