A Story about a Warrior

The generation whose flag even I carried at rallies, and whose name I yelled out for all I was worth, always gazed in awe and wonder upon fighters. We looked upon them as if they were sportsmen playing some kind of game of their own making, and even after their game we continued to cheer them on and defeat the adversary that had already been defeated.

These fighters are now old and tired people who have difficulties even remembering their own names, and many have been honourably laid to rest and benevolently forgotten. In all honesty, I have to admit that, in my mind, this was for the best and the best way for all traces of war and misfortune to be erased.

However, it would seem that many from my generation did not share my way of thinking, and for them this past was still something to be treasured, since they so eagerly took up arms. Within only a couple of months of war I have made so many enemies that it leaves me asking myself where they were till now. Why did they not spend their beautiful youth intoxicating themselves with the scents of love, why are they still hungry when they have been taking from others all their lives, perhaps, even from one who was their friend until yesterday? How is it there are so many lies lurking in friendship? Has this city affronted any one of them so much for them to raze it so heartily to the ground in this manner?

I have talked to many fighters who defend these ruins; and they are of the same opinion. Why would anyone need my city, except me and those who live in it and Croatia? It is a well-known fact that you cannot be that which you are not. That also applies to cities. It also applies to the land. People, giants of Croatian bravery, stand in defence of this idea, and they do not seem to be able to make those from the other side of the fence understand that the time of wars is slowly drawing to an end. Did they not grasp this while they sauntered through parks carrying their school bag and stealing kisses in the twilight? In vain did they carry my name and the names of my neighbours in their breasts, as this war they have lost, if not earlier, then by defiling their hands and cheeks in attempts to take that which is not theirs. I cannot accept dishonesty, nor the darkness they bring to my light.

I thank them in the name of all those who have died, and in the name of all those who have suffered because of their,ungrateful and gluttonous desire to take that which belongs,to others, and in the name of my own insignificant little self, which will, in the end, be greater than they.