7/09/1945
Dear Diary,
Today I came back home from the war. I can't put it in words and express the feeling of coming back home after watching my men die one by one in the field. No one seems to care about the war, it seems like it was all for nothing. The whole thing to them(who exactly?) was a kind of a bus accident. All they care about is their money.
It's so quiet here. No gun shots sounds, nor soldiers screaming for help. You can only hear the birds chirping.
When dad brought me home, he was driving the new car he bought me. I feel awful about it. The money my dad spends, the bloody money he made from the war, it just makes me sick. I can hear my soldiers crying in every cent he spends. On top of that, he asked me to work with him at the plant. I don't want to let him down, so for now I'll accept his request, considering the fact that his son, my little brother, died in that horrible war.
I can't sleep at night. I'm having all of these nightmares, memories from the war. I just lie in my comfortable bed, thinking of ways I could’ve saved every soldier from dying back there. They were foolish! If they were only a bit selfish, some of them could’ve come back home. But they were better than that. They killed themselves for each other. Sometimes I think I am better off dead. I should’ve died there, along with my soldiers.
However, none of this matters now. I'm back home, and they are dead. I'm going back to my old life. The only thing I can do right now is be a better person, like my soldiers were. Maybe that would ease the blame, release me from the guilt and cut me off my chains. I owe that to them, that's the least I can do. Otherwise it would be a disgrace to their honor. May they rest in peace.
Beautiful!
(100)
Daphna
Dear Diary,
Today I came back home from the war. I can't put it in words and express the feeling of coming back home after watching my men die one by one in the field. No one seems to care about the war, it seems like it was all for nothing. The whole thing to them(who exactly?) was a kind of a bus accident. All they care about is their money.
It's so quiet here. No gun shots sounds, nor soldiers screaming for help. You can only hear the birds chirping.
When dad brought me home, he was driving the new car he bought me. I feel awful about it. The money my dad spends, the bloody money he made from the war, it just makes me sick. I can hear my soldiers crying in every cent he spends. On top of that, he asked me to work with him at the plant. I don't want to let him down, so for now I'll accept his request, considering the fact that his son, my little brother, died in that horrible war.
I can't sleep at night. I'm having all of these nightmares, memories from the war. I just lie in my comfortable bed, thinking of ways I could’ve saved every soldier from dying back there. They were foolish! If they were only a bit selfish, some of them could’ve come back home. But they were better than that. They killed themselves for each other. Sometimes I think I am better off dead. I should’ve died there, along with my soldiers.
However, none of this matters now. I'm back home, and they are dead. I'm going back to my old life. The only thing I can do right now is be a better person, like my soldiers were. Maybe that would ease the blame, release me from the guilt and cut me off my chains. I owe that to them, that's the least I can do. Otherwise it would be a disgrace to their honor. May they rest in peace.
Beautiful!
(100)
Daphna
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