July, 1 1962
Frienamy,
That's what I am to him, by day I am a close friend, a loving companion, the most doting fan. But by night I kill his friends, I shoot his companions, I blow up his base.
"How cruel, how inhumane!" you shout and scream, but you don't understand… no one does…
You see, I am torn, torn between my love for the American with the charming smile and sparkling blue eyes, and my love for my country, my people, and my homeland.
It would be so easy for me just to leave my country and follow him, but alas… I can't, for right now, we are at war, his country and I, it's a bloody war, so many of my people have died, massacred by the his troops.
History books will tell of our war, they will recount it as a tragedy, a thing to be gawked at with horror and sorrow. But they will never fully understand, they weren't here, they didn't live through the hell that this has become.
So I stand here before you now, a living corps, a fallen angle, I war rent country. My tears have become rivers of blood, my wounds gush the red liquid as I kneel here, quivering, shaking with pain and fear.
"Who are you?" you ask,
I am the horror that was Vietnam.