Grayed.
By the time I realize that I am a child, I am surrounded by bullets, bullet holes, and corpses of men younger than me. They forgot to tell me a great deal about these wars. They said it’s how boys become men—if not men, then martyrs. It’s when I’m standing in a windblown field of crimson wheat left behind that I realize that martyrs are made from heroes who have happened to have died, not ordinary men, much less boys.
