I think wars are necessary to the foundation of this country and good can come from them, although many men and women can die. I believe that things could turn horribly wrong, had we not fought wars, and good comes from them eventually. I also believe that had it not been for wars, our rights would be taken away, and we should fight these wars for the good of our country, America. In conclusion, I believe that wars are necessary, and without them, our country would fall to pieces and be trampled by others.

I stared down at my written work in disgust. An elementary piece quite honestly: simple to write, simple foundation, simple lies. I look at my words, my anger seeping through my skin, invading my thoughts. My words blur as my anger destroys all sense of reason. These words are wrong. They are lies. Lies I am forced to make, so that I may stay the perfect student, keep my grades high, go to a good college. I stare at my teacher in disgust, what does she think war does? Make everything right? No, instead they make things even more wrong. We kill each other, our own people. We slaughter our kin, if they are on the other side. We watch, cheer as we win, no matter the blood shed. We let them die, heck, we even volunteer. We volunteer to kill each other, our own family, as said by god himself, born from the same genesis, the same origin, and thrown into the coldness of everlasting war and hatred. We send our people to kill their people, even though they are all each other’s people. We go after them, after each other, for pitiful reasons: fear, hatred, distrust, our own misery. We watch as they fall and yet we still cry when we see our own brought home dead. We kill each other, for what point? Rights? The rights to kill one another? We put ourselves in the path of war for what? Glory? Or, perhaps, revenge? What is worth another’s death? Is it truly worth it? To sit there, watching, listening as the war goes on, cheering as another and another fell, completely oblivious to the other family’s tears, their pain. It is all perfect, until your own people are killed, but they are also our people. You think it is right to only cry over yours because they volunteered? Those people volunteered too, to fight for their country, their rights. You think it is right because they died for a good cause? What about the people on the other end of that land mine, that grenade they launched? What about their families? Their sons, their daughters, they died for a cause as well, but you refuse to see that. You let anger seep through you, let your differences cause you to kill. That is why the anger must not get to me. “Ms. Sabrina Philip, would you read your piece?” my teacher asked and I smiled at her, and nodded. I would tell these lies. These lies they make me tell.