I woke up to the sound of screams and moans of pain and distress. As I slowly regained my consciousness I turned myself slowly, still lying in the bed, to see a room filled with wounded and disabled people incapacitated by the war. I could smell the stench of the antiseptic and taste the sweat running down my cheek. It didn't long to realize that my legs had been amputated, it wasn't beyond my ken. The ground underneath me had shattered and it had taken my legs with them. I was told soldiers would not be judged in wars. The judgment came in the form of a landmine.
Now that I am through with the war, I can only ponder over my abilities to discern the right from the wrong. I have killed men. Did I kill them because they call God by a different name or because their noses were shorter than ours? I don't want to know the answer. Religion has brainwashed me and I have become thoughtless obeying the commands of our so called leaders. Why did I leave to God to take every one of my decisions? Regardless to whether he exits or not, regardless of whether I am capable of being righteous or not, I should have been able to see what is wrong. I don't find any comfort in ruminating over these rationale, its not aesthetic.
I hear a priest recite the verses of the bible nearby. “.....Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand......” What an irony? When everything is already finished I am not able to stand.
As I recover my strength, I ask the nurse for a notebook and a pen so that I could pen down some of my thoughts. She tells me today is June 18. I was born on this day 22 years ago. That day was supposed to give me the meaning of life. Its a shame that its meaningless now.