[ 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 .

I hate myself. And yet I love everything I've done. 
 
 There are many facets to love. For some, it's that intimate bond that you get when you find your better half; for others its watching the game with your closest of family and friends; for me, I never knew what love was. I never asked to me in a situation where I would find it- and never thought I would. Even a few months ago, when I stressing out over where to go to graduate medical school, my friends all supported me and hoped I decided. I just wanted to do the usual things like study, eat, party, play and repeat- like clockwork. I enjoyed spending my time working hard because I honestly believed that I would be saving lives in the future and really giving others a second chance, as long as I learned how to at least. 
 
 And then I remember that day of fear- the day my entire life changed. Mom stood there, in the gymnasium, barely holding back her overflowing tears as dad let out a grand sigh and proudly kept his head up. I knew it was painful. There's no way that it could n't be. Whether if it were Thanksgiving or Christmas or any other reason to run back home, mom would always suddenly prop up in cheer as if a ray of sunlight finally hit her face. Dad, as proud of a man as he is, would let a little crack of humanity creep out of him, and it meant a lot to me. Just like the days when I won my first little league, my college acceptance, or when I decided I wanted to learn medicine, he hugged me. It was n't one of those brief touch and pat on the backs, but an embarrassingly public embrace. He whispered into my ear, `` Your mom and I are proud of you son.'' As everyone began boarding the bus, so too I did. As we left the school to god-knows-where, for the first time I saw him buckle over. My mom held him up as he just collapsed. 
 
 As I remembered the halcyonic days of the past, I felt a sense of longing for what I had before. I did n't yearn for the comfort of being near family or the excitement I had when I was with friends or even the lackadaisical days that I so-loved. I longed for who I was before all this. 
 
 I raised my rifle at a trio of Vietcong soldiers running along the edges of the jungle and squeezed off a trio of rounds. The one at the lead immediately halted with a splash of red erupting from his thigh, his shoulder, and where his ear would have been. The other two, in a mix of panic and grief, swung a 180 and tried running the opposite direction. Three more shots, and the one in the now front, crumpled like a house of cards as a bullet ripped cleanly through his head. I laughed. I mentally joked that I just expanded his mind to the world. The final of the trio stood there, a friend dead on either side, and he sobbed wildly in his hands. I thought about shooting him, just to end it, but I stood there wondering what he was going to do. For a whole minute, he cried and then he stood up. Was he going to try to charge me? Was he going to say fuck it and run away anyways? Thoughts about what he might do in that situation really interested me. The last of the trio stood up- dropped the butt of his rifle to the ground, and suckled on the barrel like it was a mother's tit. 
 
 I do n't know how, but he used his toe sticking out of his broken boots, and shot himself- straight through the jaw... and I laughed. I loved this. I hate what I've become, but God do I love this.
