Dear Journal,

I don’t hear much of the news anymore, but when I do, it’s usually filtered through one of the other men. One of my superiors has a radio, although I’m not sure which one. I try to make myself invisible around them.

Generally, I try to make myself invisible. That helps a lot, especially in the trenches. If they can’t see you, they can’t kill you.

I don’t want to die, Journal. I see so many men die, the blood draining from their bodies like air leaving a balloon. Journal, I’ve killed some of them. Either way, I’ve watched life flee their eyes as something withers inside me.

Sometimes I think about them, the men I’ve killed. Some of them don’t really look like men; they look like boys, practically, but what can I say? It’s the duty I have to my country.

-Adrian