In a world with constant conflict, the only job of the people is to fight in the war. They could be rewarded with medals, money, or simply the title of being a savior, which was a highly respected military soldier who contributed greatly to the war effort.
Orphanages and group homes that were turned into military training centers are packed with children who lost their parents in the war, most of them left with little to no memories of their real family as they’re conscripted to fight in the war.
Many did it gladly, it was all they knew, all that they thought they were good for. They were shipped off to the battlefields. They were given codes instead of names. They were soldiers, but behind that, they were kids.
Dreaming in their cots of people they would have known if maybe, just maybe, there was a world where hate didn’t prevail entirely. Maybe the sky was bright, maybe blue. Maybe something could grow from the soil of the trenches, the dirt beneath their feet. Perhaps, the concept of killing and dying would be foreign rather than the Grim Reaper being a close friend.
Maybe these children wouldn’t have to face Death himself as beings meant to be full of life. They knew how to fight, but in a war? They were strangers to suffering. They were told they were going to be safe, but that was just another lie.
Maybe the world wasn’t so manipulated to hold arms to children, those meant to love and to live to heal, but rather die. Backs against the wall, they’re surrounded with no choice but to await their fate as it all comes back to them the way it had to their parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and their great-great-grandparents before them. But there wouldn’t be any more children out in the war once they’re all dead.
(am I onto something or on something)