Dream Journal 17-02-16
I stood upon the crest of a small hill. The world was smothered in shades of red and grey, the putrid smell of death mixed with the refreshing smell of light rain.
I was not native to the domain of war, yet through the manipulation of my nation, I was forced into battle. They had forced me to shed the blood of my fellow man and litter the land with corpses that were doomed to sink back into the earth without any form of a burial. There was no glory in this field of ash and blood. We soldiers were forced to fight each other for our nation’s political benefit. Just because we resided on their land, the politicians demanded that we fight to ‘free’ the people of the other nations while the politicians sat back and watched the ensuing battles from the safety of their luxurious underground bunkers.
Man, woman and child all fought side by side. Humanity had grown too dependent on technology and implanted microchips into the brain that gave us instant access to any information and allowed us to engage in a virtual environment with others who had the chip. The political ‘leaders’ the ‘ran’ my country had found a way to use these microchips to override the motion faculty of the brain. They could control what we did, but not what we thought. We were no longer free agents but minds tethered to a body that we could no longer call our own. We fought because they made us fight. We tried to communicate with the other nations but bore no fruit.
I stood upon the remains of 200 000 dead soldiers, wondering if this stained my honour. Did the fact that someone else had control of my body mean that I was completely not to blame? I felt the weight of all those that ‘I’ had killed. I felt the pain of 37 892 dying humans and every inch of my body was crying out for it to end. One swift slash at a vital point on my body and the politicians would lose their last pawn. All I had to do was embrace a quick death and I would be released from this field of ash and blood.