Writing prompt:
 “I am my father’s son,
   I am my father’s mistakes,
   I’m easily undone,
   I am no stranger to rage.” – The Amity Affliction

When I was fifteen my father hit my mother, I never saw it happen but I heard it. I was in my room down the hall I could hear the yelling I could hear the rage; I could almost feel the sound waves coming off my father’s booming voice as he told her again and again, never ending that she was evil that she was worthless.
People often wonder why fifteen year old's are always so angry, The reason is because the world is horrible; and the year you start seeing it is at fifteen. I went to school the day after that happened, the entire day I had to stop my hands from shaking by tapping on the table, every time I tried to write it just turned into scribble so I just tapped, For all seven periods I couldn't think straight all my thoughts were jumbled together so much that it felt like all my thoughts were cramped into a small bubble in a room with nothing but white walls that stretch for miles and if my thoughts break free I’ll just be stuck in the white walls of nothingness.

I made it home at 4:00pm, I dragged my feet from the bus stop to home but as I got to the door my hands started to shake again and I could barely control them they were shaking so bad, I opened the door to see my dad sitting on a chair reading the paper, there was whiskey beside him on the small table. I felt this surge of anger rise up inside me I could feel words trying to make their way out of my mouth, I tried to swallow them but my body was controlling me I couldn't stop what happened next.

“why?” it was barely a whisper and my father didn't look up from the paper he was reading.
“why?” I repeated this time a bit louder, He folded the paper and put It down beside the whiskey
“why what?” a blood vessel was popped in his eye so when he looked at me he looked like a bull ready to charge but I didn't feel fear, I felt rage.
“WHY DID YOU HIT HER?” I screamed at him, my hands still shaking but I clenched my fists so he wouldn't see “WHY DID YOU DRIVE HER AWAY?” this time I had done it, there was a line and I had crossed it. He crossed the room to me in barely a second and grabbed the hair at the back of my head and shoved my head back so I could look at him; the sweat was dripping down his bald head, he smelled like alcohol and anger But I still felt no fear. “I didn’t send her away boy, she wanted to leave so she left” he was lying, she loved him, he hit her.

I spat in his face.

Next minute I was on the floor I had the most horrendous pain on the side of my face, The pain was like a flower blooming from my check bone, it started in the middle and then my entire face was hurting, I felt blood covering my mouth but I wasn’t sure; I had never thought getting punched would hurt this much. I hauled myself up onto my feet with the help of the wall and while his back was turned I swung a punch and aimed for the back of his head, I heard a sickening crack like I had snapped a bone and he was down. Everything was silent.
“dad?” blood dribbled out of my mouth along with drool, I felt the fear now. I felt every bit of it. I knelt down to see if he was alright and I almost puked all the blood that was in my mouth, his eyes were open but nothing was moving, he wasn't breathing.
I sat there not moving for a few minutes but I couldn't cry I couldn't do anything at all but feel the fear of what I did.

With my sweaty hands and my deranged breathing I scrambled for phone in my pocket, my shaky hands dialed a number and I sat there in science.
“hello?” I missed her voice, she only left last night but I missed her already.
“I think I killed dad” my voice was raspy and I didn't sound like myself. I don’t know what happened next but I stared at my father’s dead, unmoving, alcoholic body and I realised.
  I am my father’s son,
  I am my father’s mistakes,
   I’m easily undone,
   I am no stranger to rage

Perception of War.

People don’t see war as we did back in 1912 and 1939, back them we saw it as a game that we could win. Now this may be only my opinion but these days there are three very general ways I see joining the army.
1- you actually wish to serve and help others by representing your country in kindness and defence.

2- High school mixed with your life just really screwed with you and you say “why not? I really can’t see anything going my way any time soon” ( a lot more detailed but this is general)

3- A good way to get a scholarship and special training to get you importance and power in life.

Most know what they’re getting into if they go to the battlefield, someone you know might get wounded, maybe even die. You will see blood, poverty, ill-treatment of people, corrupted children; Nothing actually different than what you’ll see in your own town or city of you look hard enough. A first world country is no better than a third world country, the poverty and corruption is just less subtle and publicized.