We lived for decades in a cursed land, not solely because of its people—though they were a part of the curse—but because of the rulers who governed these lands with unrelenting corruption. The revolution came like a storm, promising change, but instead of salvation, it delivered us into the hands of the devil himself. Presidents they brought forth from the archives of history was a relic of a bygone era, a figure who belonged more to the past than to our present struggle.
These leaders, thrust upon us as if from a page of some ancient chronicle, offered nothing but despair. He provided no work for the able, no fair wages for the toilers. Our nation, already weary from the burdens of the past, found itself plunged into yet another plague—this one more insidious than before. It wasn’t just the disease that ate away at our bodies, but the decay of hope that corroded our souls.
As the years dragged on, the military swept through region after region, attempting to restore order in a land where order had long been forgotten. But no matter how many soldiers marched, no matter how many battles were fought, nothing changed. Sacrifices had been made; many died for nothing; many died for us, all in the name of a cause that seemed to bear no fruit. We watched our comrades fall, one by one, until the weight of their sacrifice became too heavy to bear.
For a time, we were proud. We held our dead warriors in our hearts, venerating their memory as if it could somehow give meaning to their deaths. But as the years turned into decades, that pride turned to dust. Did we forget how to grieve? Did the endless parade of funerals and memorials numb us to the point where we could no longer mourn? Or perhaps it was simpler than that—perhaps, in our despair, we chose to forget, to erase their names from our memories so we wouldn’t have to face the pain of remembering.
In the end, we realized that death was never the issue. Death, after all, comes for us all. It is the one certainty in this uncertain world. The true issue, the one that gnawed at our hearts and minds, was the question of what—or who—we were dying for.
What was the cause that demanded such a heavy toll? Was it worth the price we paid, the lives we sacrificed? Or were we simply pawns in a game played by those who never had to face the consequences of their decisions? These questions haunted us, lingering in the shadows of our minds as we continued to fight, continued to die, for a cause that had long since lost its meaning.