The war horn was blown. I was dreading the sound ever since I got here, but I felt like I had been dreading it my entire life. I though it would never come, but it did. We started to march. Across the field, where the Northerners waited in their formations. I was a few rows back in our formation, so I could barely make them out. But I knew they were there. They were always there. I could see them marching towards us. I clenched my sword in anticipation. I was scared, maybe I should ditch? No, I was going to fight my first battle. Against the north, to humiliate them. For the south, to bring honor. That couldn’t be the only two reasons, could it? I thought back to my history classes that I took. We fought the north, because....because the north was bad. The south was good. We had always been fighting them. They were evil, and we, the south, were good. That’s what everyone said, the news stations, the president, my grandparents, my parents, my friends, their parents. All we ever heard was bad things about the north. The north had to be bad. Yes, I shall destroy this evil. There was a yell, and the man in front of me fell to the ground. Shot by an arrow. As I stumbled over him, caught a glimpse of his face. Beautiful, young. But surely dead. They killed him, those bastards! I marched faster, with a renewed passion. They rest of the southerners followed suit. Arrows were flying everywhere now, and the two armies were about to clash. I screamed at the top of my lungs. With my sword pointed outwards, I charged with confidence that I could take on the whole North. When the two armies met, the frontlines were a haze. You could barely see the soldiers between all the armor, swords, shields, arrows, and other weapons. Many people lay dead already. One of those people was Simon, the narrator of the story. Although he met a quick demise, He was able to bring someone down with him, all for the “glory of the south”. Right before he bled out, Simon caught a glimpse of his victims face. It was beautiful, young. But surely dead. Because he had killed him, for a reason he would never know. Simon was sent into war to fight an enemy he didn’t understand, for a reason he didn’t understand, by people he didn’t understand. No one really understood, really. The reasons they fought were all but forgotten. They fought today because they had fought yesterday, and the day before that, and so on. They never stopped to think. Never asked why. No one ever questioned their parents, because they didn’t know either. Maybe the original reason they fought was a good reason. Maybe it wasn’t. But whatever it was, it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters forever. All except love and peace and everything similar. That was what brought real happiness. Not chasing old rivalries and humiliating others. But those people seemed to have forgotten that.