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What does it mean to be a Spartan?
I've always believed in the Spartan ideas. I remember being a kid. Being a kid, it seems like some distant fantasy I used to live in once upon a time. My father used to take me down to see the parades every year. I would strain my neck to see the Spartan warriors walking down our city streets. My father would pick me up and perch me on his shoulders so I could see a little better. They all looked so glamorous, proud, noble and strong. Maybe this is why I the minute I saw the sun gleaming from their armor I knew it was my calling.
When I entered the program I was a short, stringy, awkward boy. I can still see the look people gave me down the corridors. Their eyes said something like, "You, seriously?" I paid no attention. I knew what I was doing was the right choice for me. It was a tough lifestyle but one got used to it after a while. You sometimes make friends on the side but even that is a luxury.
I remember my older sister, years before I entered, had joined the marines. She was my best friend. I confided in her for everything including my fears and secrets Spartan's weren't supposed to have. She died. I started to carry her dog tags around my neck, feeling them there just reaffirmed my desires.
Then one day I looked into the mirror and there I was, no longer that boy, but a young strong man. I was willing to fight and protect regardless of my own personal cost. The sacrifices we make are always heavy. Yet, with some kind of spark somewhere deep within each of us we managed to push through. I saw friends fall one after another so I stopped making friends; The way I saw it we wouldn't be friends for too long.
This one day I was called to work with a group, Noble Team, full of foreign people, but what did that matter? We were all Spartans. We all chose this and because of our choices we are united. Even with a group as strong as this, we all began to fall little by little.
Finally one day it was just me. I carefully passed over our precious hope praying that it might save us.
The ship then leaves and I am all alone.
Even now, standing here watching all the alien ships zoom overhead I can still see the parade. My father's face looks up and meets my eyes. I am pointing and waving enthusiastically. We don't walk in parades anymore. I close my eyes for a few seconds thinking about my chances of survival. They are slim. I open my eyes and think back upon my life. Do I regret my choice of becoming a Spartan? No. I reload my gun, check my grenades, and stand proudly. I think to myself, this is what is means to be a Spartan.