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The soldier sat with the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. He twisted his hands back and forth trying to erase the visions that clogged his mind; trying to eliminate the horrifying visions of silver skinned victims wandered aimlessly through the streets of WWII Nagasaki.

No matter how hard he tried he could not erase death’s stamp; the children left without parents or parents The soldier sat with the heel of his hands pressed against his eyes. He twisted his hands back and forth trying to erase the visions that clogged his mind; trying to eliminate the horror that consumed the visions of silver skinned victims wandered aimlessly through the streets of WWII Nagasaki.

No matter how hard he tried he could not erase the insanity of death; children left without parents and parents left without children. He couldn’t clear his mind of refugees searching for warmth in the desimated streets where rubble buried countless citizens that were pawns in a game where there was no winner.

The soldier strengthened his resolve, rubbed his eyes one more time and this time tears were replaced with a stone cold look that didn’t care. It was time to get back to the business of staying alive as he had been trained.

Compassion was replaced with duty. Fear was replaced with resolve. Humanity was replaced with patriotism.
He stood, adjusted his pack and looked up the war-torn street. Dry eyed, he stepped forward; there was work to be done.

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