"We are young,

but we have heart,

born in this world as it all falls apart."

Peace. It is but an illusion, used to calm the human mind. We all, on a certain level, know this statement as a fact. War. Now that’s closer to the right idea. War has torn down the world, and in its wake, a fire was left, to burn the world to ash. This fire is the fire of hate. The flames of loathing hang on each individual, swallowing us in their blistering rage.

The flag of hatred was drawn long ago, by people who were born generations before either you or I. Over the countless years, the flag stays the same; it never changes in the least. However, we, my friends, are the generation who decided to wave it proudly above our heads.

Hate is universal, and no matter where you go, you can't escape it. The whispers of ignorance never cease. That is the cause of war, and it will never end. People are too predictable, and we all know the outcome of every war that’s ever been; people die.

There is a question that I want to ask all of you, a question that you won’t be able to answer. What happens when angels fall into the flames of battle?