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HatredHate, it's more than a word. It's a virus, a plague that fills every facet of your life. Wherein the very existence of someone or something that is the focus of your hatred is an offence to you. Hating someone consumes your life like a wildfire and it spreads, it always spreads. When it gets spread out to far, and to high, then it becomes a tool, a weapon, when your hatred becomes a weapon you have reached a point you should never approach. A point where you dedicate your every waking monet to trying to hurt the one you hate. Hate is an emotion, if you keep it an emotion it can never harm. Only when you let it fester and grow can it become more. The best thing that anyone can ever do with their hatred is let it go, put out the fire, heal the virus, and don't let it spread. Cause if you don't it'll move again, and the cycle will begin anew. Only with a sword of understanding can we break the ring of animosity.
A Turning Point in the Clockwork WarA war of attrition
depends on supply and drawdown,
how much you have and how much you use up.
With personnel, the balance concerns
the influx of recruitment versus
the outflow of casualties, deserters, invalids.
There is only so much loss
that a fighting force can sustain
and still fight.
Pilot Claude Archer was the first
to challenge his invalid discharge.
"I don't need legs to fly," he said,
patting the healed stumps of his thighs.
"My Osprey runs on elbow grease."
The members of the discharge board
paused and looked at each other.
What he said was true.
The Osprey-class fighter jets
relied on hand controls,
and a sharp eye and iron nerve.
Fingers flicked through the stack
of discharge papers -- so many, many pages.
So many soldiers lost, never to fight again.
They could not afford to let slip even one
who might be retained, somehow,
to face the front line once more.
Far less could the war effort spare
one of its best pilots.
So they put Pilot Archer back on the roster,
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