TW: mention of animal hunting, death

Feb. 13

Dear Journal,

I apologize, it seems I’m doing that quite a lot lately, for the abrupt stop last time. I even forgot to sign my name! It’s just that…

I’ll have to kill. Have to. That’s what war means. People have to die. I knew what I was getting into when I enlisted. I knew that I’ve always had trouble snuffing the life out of things. I’ve never been able to hunt with my father and my brothers on holidays, even knowing only one of us was going to shoot a turkey. I never wanted to *see* the turkey die. 

I’ve never wanted to see anything or anyone die. When my grandfather passed away several winters ago, I cried and cried, on and off, for weeks until I had no more tears and my eyes were sore. I’d never known the man and I’d never wanted to, but his death was still a loss of life.

I could barely snuff out the flame of a candle, much less shoot a man at point blank range. What if he didn’t die when I shot him? What if he lived and suffered? What if he couldn’t provide for his family? What if his wife left him? What if he never saw his kids again? What if he died when I shot him and his wife couldn’t take care of his kids?

-Adrian