soldiers [Theme] Page 2

- As I remember, there is no need for a parachute in hell... It doesn't matter what happened and why. We are here. One question - how to get out?

The soldiers went to fight because the politicians exchanged words unsuccessfully.

Fighting is crazy. Even if a cannonball doesn’t hit you and you don’t lose an arm or a leg, you will be left with nothing: no money, no awards, you won’t even be thanked. Look how ex-soldiers are roaming around, drunk and ruined, they have nothing to be proud of, except for all this chatter about heroism.

Everyone breaks the law, Steven...

Like pathetic dogs for the owner.

War is children killed by bombs.

A pint of sweat conserves a gallon of blood.

But especially fiction and truth merged when I found our old house in the Wazir Akbar Khan area, the house I grew up in, just as Amir grew up in the house next door. It took me three days of searching, I did not remember the address, and everything around me changed beyond recognition. But I searched and searched until I came across a familiar arch.
I entered the house and the soldiers who lived there now were kind enough to allow me my nostalgic tour. And I saw that the paint on my house, as well as on the house of Amir, peeled off, the grass withered, the trees in the courtyard were no more, and the wall that enclosed the yard almost collapsed. Like Amira, I was struck by how small my house was compared to what lived in my memory. And - I swear! - when I went outside the gate, I saw on the asphalt the same tar spot in the form of a Rorschach blon, which Amir also saw. I said goodbye to the soldiers and walked away, and there was a growing feeling in me that if I hadn't written The Wind Runner, my encounter with my stepfather's house would have shocked me much more. After all, I've already experienced it - in the book. I stood next to Amir at the gate of his house and with him I experienced the loss. I saw him put his hands on the rusty pins of the fence and we peered together into the sagging roof and crumbled porch.
You'd say fiction stole life, well, that's probably how it is.

Explanation of the quote:

2013 edition
The story takes place in pre-war Kabul of the 1970s. In this magical city, shimmering with all shades of gold and azure, live two weather boys, Amir and Hassan. One belonged to the local aristocracy, the other to a despised minority. One father was handsome and important, the other was chrome and pathetic. Master and servant, prince and beggar, handsome and crippled. But there were no people in the world closer than these two boys. Soon the Kabul idyll will be replaced by terrible storms.

War is glorified only by poets, so that those in power do not feel guilty in the massacre arranged with their money. And an ordinary soldier is destined to die in a foreign land for a king who would not give him even crumbs from his table.

- And in you he will not feel it, Doctor?

According to the legend of the Swordsmen, a soldier who dies easily dances among the stars, fighting enemies for ages. Is this waiting for me? Or will I sleep in endless darkness, unbreakable and silent?

In general, this world chews on soldiers and does not hesitate to spit them out.

“I don’t blame you people of London. I don't blame my sister, she is protecting her sons. My sister is a true queen, I would not want to take the crown from her. My mother hid me when the soldiers came, you were angry with me, so you didn't say goodbye. You always thought that my mother loved me more ... I missed you, Lizzie! I would like you to talk to me. But I forgive you.

They were professionals. There was no need to fear that they would shoot out of the blue before the order was given or a real threat arose.