This battle is every day. There is a battle every ******* day. I stopped wearing armor, so the wounds are deeper -- I can't even bare to be out in that field. Once I am, I retreat as quickly as possible and I cry as the soldiers fight in my place, accepting that I cannot help them. So much pain to endure each day. Physical pain. My body is strong, building layers by nightfall that get ripped off the next day. I've been here so long, I forgot what my life was like. My parents, how they cry for me, terrified for the day that will end all. My friends have forgotten me, why would they remember? I left them to fight a war I did not want part of. I wanted peace my entire life. Peace. Is there no end to this madness? Cliche as ****. My eyes are closing, I am weak tonight. I have chosen refuge rather than the field where my colleagues win Purple Hearts and medals of courage. Good for them. They fear nothing, they are the best of us. But we hide. I cannot always lift my sword to the enemy, I cannot.