He stood in front of the memorial with slightly widened eyes. Never before had he seen so many namesand they were all names of the dead. The war that had taken these men from the world had left the survivors to question their government, their country, and even themselves. He remembered before, when he saw so many people who were so proud to be Americans. But afterwards, no one was proud of it. They were all ashamed to have anything to do with their country. They lost their trust in their governmentand each other.
Slowly, he laid his fingertips on the wall, feeling the engravings of the individual names through his black gloves. How many names did his fingers touch before he finally lowered his hand back down to his side? Twenty? Thirty? How many names were on just this wall? One thousand? Two thousand?
Too many.
His heart clenched inside his chest, and he was brought to his knees. He could no long bear the sight of it. So many had sacrificed themselves, and for what? There was absolutely no way they could have won that war, and yet. . .it just kept going, on and on, for ten years. Twenty if they counted the illegal spying the American government had done beforehand.
He knelt to the ground, beaten down and in pain. He lowered his body and sat down, his back now leaning against the memorial. He brought his legs closer to him and rested his arms on his knees. Hot tears pricked his eyes, and he brought one hand to his head and clutched a fistful of hair as he began to weep softly. He would never admit it to anyone, but he was tired. He was tired of all the fighting. He was tired of the waste, the senselessness of such violence. His heart was broken from the anguish that he had suffered all this time. All this time, he was forced to carry his nationt say a word to him. She didnt react when he did this. She only moved her gaze to the ground by his feet. She slowly lifted her hand and placed it gently on his shoulder. He froze at the sudden contact, but he was soon overcome by his sobs again.
After several long moments, his weeping subsided. She took her hand away and stood up. He quickly wiped his bloodshot eyes and looked at her relaxed figure. Putting his glasses back on his face, he muttered,
She stopped and looked down at him, waiting patiently for him to go on.
He sniffled, cleared his throat, and breathed deeply. he said, his eyes showing his sincerity.
She blinked slightly, then smiled warmly at him before nodding and turning to leave. As she walked away, she wondered why someone who looked to be about her age would be mourning over something that had happened over forty years ago. Maybe he had a grandparent who was killed? Why would he be so emotionally wounded by something that happened before they were even born?
She could never imagine the grief he endured.