[ WP ] A young student is drafted off to fight in a bloody foreign war . He quickly finds that war is the most enjoyable thing he has ever experienced .

My grandfather was a veteran. We were always very close, so he always would tell me about his war stories whenever I asked. ( Me having an overactive imagination. ) He usually broke down right in the middle of his tales though. On his deathbed, he made me swear to never hurt another human being. I promised I would n't. 
 
 Fast forward twelve years later, and here I am, getting drafted. Not like I had much of a choice. I was in college to become an artist. Being endlessly entertained with paintings led to me creating several myself. The rich, vivid colors attracted me like a moth to an open flame. Thanks to the war, however, that option disappeared from my life. Instead, another door opened up. I remember what my grandfather told me, about never harming another human being. But, the logical part of me deduced that there was simply no other choice. Fight and die for my country, or get jail time. Pretty clear-cut, if you ask me. 
 
 So here I am, in some backwater country that nobody gave two shits about until a few months ago. If I'm here, I might as well make the best of it. I glance towards my friends from training, who are busy eating. I did n't bother with food unless necessary. The fires of war dazzled me so that sustenance was a fleeting concern. 
 
 A shot rang out. One of my friends, no older than I, had his brains blown out through the back of his head, straight into the food he was eating not a second prior. My other comrades took a few seconds longer than I to react, in pure shock of the man's demise. The concrete barriers behind which we hid were suddenly beset by rapid bursts of fire. Instead of taking cover with my squad, I bolt in another direction, going off to flank the enemy by myself. 
 
 I sprint into a house, withering fire trailing right behind me. I risk a look back towards my compatriots, who are still as I left them. Above the din roar of heavy gunfire, I make out several assailants as I peek from a nearby window. Perfect. I make my move, dashing from cover to cover in a crouch. The enemy does n't notice me. Big mistake. 
 
 By the time I'm mere meters away from my foe, another friend has fallen. However, his awful screams reached my senses before he expired. My expression changes to one of anger. I mentally steel myself for the upcoming rush. I can feel my heart beating heavily. I inhale, and charge straight into the fool. Before he realizes what is happening, a heavy blow from the butt of my gun knocks a few of his teeth loose. He falls to the ground, and I quickly dispatch him with a bullet to the back of the head. Eye for an eye. 
 
 Sadly, his buddies noticed me, and I dove into cover as a hail of projeciles barely misses me. I was prepared, however. Not a problem a good grenade would n't fix. I pull the pin, and toss the small cylindrical device towards the enemy. The shrieks of a man reward me. I grin. A quick investigation of the results revealed one body in pieces, and another man with his legs and chest in tatters. He is still alive, despite the odds. I smile again. As I get closer to him, the primal part of his psyche kicks in. He howls his fear, terrified of what pain I will inflict upon him. I look down on the pathetic man, and he begins to cry for his mother. What use is a soldier who will not stand strong in the face of death? I laugh, and decide to shoot him in both shoulders with my sidearm before dispatching him with a shot to the head. I offer another glimpse to my teammates, who peek towards me, petrified. Useless. 
 
 Something zips just past my face. I almost automatically react by backing into the refuge of a nearby pile of sandbags. The last foe stands in the open, like some gawking idiot. I lean out, and barely hit the foe in the knee with my pistol. He grasps his leg, dropping his rifle. I sprint towards him. As he looks up, all he can observe is a split second blur of color before he collapses from a hit to the face. I unsheath my knife, and descend upon him. His desperate struggles befit a man of his disgusting incompetence. Gradually, the blade inches its way to his throat. I offer him a smile as his gullet is finally pierced. After several seconds of him struggling with a slit throat, like some stuck pig, I get up, his hands still gripping my arms, albeit weakly. 
 
 I look towards the fruits of my labor. Death permeates the air around me. Splattered blood and viscera greet my sight. I ca n't help but grin. There is such beauty in death, vibrant, unending, brilliant beauty that I've never even realized existed.
