I was once alone, in a hole. All around me, other men and women were dying. It was a war, and my nation was losing. The navy of our opposition loomed over us. There was no question about it; we were going to lose the war, and I and all my comrades would perish. But further up those shores was a family. That family was my family, and if I didn't hold back these soldiers, they would die. They would die, and so would everyone else I had ever known. I couldn't let that happen, so I began to fire my weapon toward them. I knew they had families, too. I knew I was killing fathers, brothers, and sons. I knew they had families, and I knew that I was ripping those families apart. But I knew I had a family too, and I knew that they knew, too. So I continued to fire. Several of my bullets penetrated the skulls and chests of the soldiers, killing them. I was killing people. I really didn't care anymore. As long as those people in our small town were safe, and they could be evacuted into the mainland, I was doing exactly what I had been trained to do. So I continued to fire. then the world around me slowed to a halt. A bullet was heading toward me. I looked to my friend, shooting beside me. I smiled, as if to say, "Don't let my death be for nothing." The bullet entered my skull, and blood gushed out.
And then, the world turned pink.
The person below me wrote:
"I sure do hate gorillas!" said the girl.