War

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Horror of war begins with the false premise that lives have different value. There are no obscure lifetimes, only lack of storytellers. Most of our stories go untold, except for awhile, maybe for generations, by those we know. Old photos, anecdotes handed down, second-hand reflections repeated again. What can we do? The universe isn't big on permanency, ever expanding as it is, so humans cannot expect much, except by faith or belief. 

Fully composed, the chronicles of humankind would stack to the next galaxy and beyond, a swirling trail of volumes and titles most unimaginable, countless pages, every day's details described, every person's story told. 

There are no hard and fast rules. Whatever seems like the most simple lifetime, if studied up close and personal, it would reveal all the similar triumphs, hardships, gains and losses found in all biographies. Every human who has ever lived or will ever live is a compelling diary of intense interest and value. Every unique life. Horrors of war strip away value from all lives, all victims of the same cursed lie.

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