Superior numbers versus superior firepower. A recipe for unending slaughter.
Flakes of white fall thru the trees and onto the road, catching on our clothes and hair. It's a silent fall and it's weird how it makes everything else seem quiet, too, like it's trying to tell you a secret, a terrible, terrible secret.
Too much talking," I say. "Not enough running.
We all fall but that's not what matters. What matters is picking yourself up again.
Except I didn't say eff
A monster, I think, remembering what Ben told me once. War makes Monsters of Men.