Too many dark Decembers have passed without my knowledge; uncounted Christmases and New Year’s Days spent trying to stay alive. Seven years of fighting have blurred together into an incoherent swirl. The only thing I remember clearly is snow, white snow. And her.

When we first signed on we were young and itching to prove ourselves, to fight for country and fight for belief. But as one dark December passed another, I lost sight of our goals. I saw our leaders watching from on high as we fought and died for them, as cold and indifferent as the snow that we, the lowest echelons, stained red with our own blood.

I’ve seen more than a man needs to see in a lifetime. I’ve seen men and women slaughtered by those who had once spoken of liberating the oppressed, who now spilt innocent blood, even as they brandished the cross overhead. All in the name of God, they said. But what God they worship, I know not.

Seven Decembers ago, I thought I knew what I signed up for – seven Decembers later, I’m not so sure any more.