After the war was over, Tom went back to his village, hoping for something with loud cheers and parades but found nothing. Where had the world he fought for gone? It was tucked away somewhere far off, caught up in the everyday struggles of reconstruction. And the war memories were tormenting him, but so was home. One day, a young child curiously inquired, “Are you a soldier?” For the first time, this question lightened Tom’s heart to a certain extent. He regarded himself as one uglier than a man, still preferred to act like one—for those that perished without hope and for that which, quiet and sluggish, continued to exist.
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