My brother and me shared a room until I was 14. His name was Bem. He was called up in to the Army when he turned 18. When I was a few months to turn 17 we got the call that Bem had been killed at the Battle of Royals Ways. My Father fell apart apart. My Mother started drinking. I started by protesting the war, then I went on a few marches. It wasn’t about politics or power or who had what, it was about my brother.

In nine months I will be called. To a war I don’t believe in, against a people I have never met or spoken to. I have never sat at their table or eaten their food. They have done no harm to me or threatened me. I have already been marked as a dissident, because I have ‘political ties’ to organisations that oppose an unjust war.

My Brother was my best friend. Whenever I screwed up or made massive mistakes, he was always there for me. When He thought my Parents were being to hard on me or were making comparisons between us, he would literally ‘throw himself on the grenade’.

I never had the chance to tell him how my heart feels.

I just have to hope that our ‘enemies’ have people that feel like me. That there are some who feel there is some common ground, some hope for the future. I hope and pray and have faith that there are some humans who do not want this war to continue.

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