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Rated: E · Short Story · War · #1968916
Woodrow Wilson has just been sacked by the American government. Only he knows the truth.
The war has been won. We have finally defeated Hitler, with the Soviets meeting us at the heart of Berlin. Yet it does not seem like we had won. This battle, this struggle, has once again swept away the lives of millions, wasting them to fight, to conquer the remaining wasteland. We have made another mistake. As I walk through the devastated land, I see bodies, riddled with bullets, debris, and ash. It does not matter which country the bodies are from. I tell my generals not to spit, kick, or cry over any of them. They ignore my commands. Is this the truth of war? Does one side prosper, pitying and hating the supposed enemy, while the other side cowards in fear, while secretly longing for deserved revenge against us, who they see as demons?

I attended the meeting in Versailles when the war had been just resolved. As the president of the USA, I knew that self-determination and peace had to be the solution for these countries. America had been isolated for too long, and it had to be my duty to sustain that peace in our nation. Yet all there is hatred.

There will be another war.

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