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  • Writer's pictureWill Sandberg


I’m a junkie, so a high tolerance is the enemy.

I fight for that which makes me feel

something. We walk around the battlefield, glowing in the dark. All the corpses have disappeared. Thousands of lives lost because

of one man’s selfishness. Puppet masters

pulling strings. What does this even mean? Veterans think the fighting is dumb. The

rubber mask I wear is featureless, dirtied.

Stitches outline the mouth and go around the

circles where the ears were cut off. “I’m a

monster,” I sob. You take one look at me, my

uniform torn, bloody, and sweaty. My whole

body shaking with the force of my tears. You

gently grab my arm, avoiding my many

wounds, and pull me into a tight embrace.

“Yes, you are,” you say firmly. “But that’s not

who you are.” We stay holding each other for

a while, then withdraw in defeat.


Will Sandberg graduated from Flagler College and lives in Florida. He loves his wife, PC gaming, and watching sports.


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