War is not a four-letter word, but it should be. It should fit conveniently next to words like fuck, hell, damn. Fuck this war. Why the hell are we still in this war? I wish this damn war would just end. It should scare him, should worry him, should make him break out in a cold sweat a night.
But it doesn't.
Instead it makes his heart beat with anticipation- blood pounding through his veins with every pulse of adrenaline. A junkie at best, he's addicted to the rush. Finger on the trigger, eyes down the sight, pulse in his head- each movement committed to muscle memory. Way beyond instinct now, it's the only way he knows how to live. It makes him feel, makes him come alive, makes him scream and he knows war is not a four-letter word….
….but he thinks it should be. It should fit conveniently next to words like fuck, hell, damn. Fuck ya, let's do this! What in the hell is taking them so long… we need to move up! Damn that was a good shot!