My grandfather always told me stories of war, he always made it sound so noble.
It was raining.
He talked about the camaraderie with his fellow soldiers, the good times in the trenches.
We were both tired and bleeding before we found each other in the mud.
He talked about how proud he was of all the latest tech he had given to him.
Both of our guns jammed because of the mud, so we grabbed knives.
He never mentioned blood or death.
I suffered the first, and caused the second.
And I understood why he discussed what he did.
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