By Jonathon Farrell ‘11
Oh brothers, how war has made us weary. These grueling days seem like months to me now as I look back upon a different time—a time when we could wake up late, in our own beds, and bike to class a comfortable five minutes late without fear. A time when we could happily go out to lunch at Tresidder. A time when we were still children. Oh brothers, can’t you see what this war has done to me? I am a killing machine!
I remember when it first started. How hopeful we were! We woke up early that first morning, excited. But we did not know what Assassins was then. To us it was just a game. But soon we learned of the hardships of war. We learned to discern the sound of a watergun firing in a rainstorm, learned how to detect an ambush waiting in the lounge. We learned how to kill.
These days, I can trust no one. My roommates disapprove. My RAs try to confiscate my weapons, my only means of defense. They are trying to make peace, but it’s too late for that now. No, all I have are my alliances, and they are few. Two comrades have fallen in the field, betrayed by people they trusted, set up. When I found them, I was horrified. The brutes had wanted to make sure they did it right… my poor friends were literally soaking wet. Believe me when I tell you that there is not honor in this fight.
For Assassins makes animals of us all. I am young. I am twenty years old; yet I know nothing of life but despair, death, fear. All the men of my age, throughout the dorm, see these things. What is to be expected of us when the time comes when Assassins is over? Throughout these weeks, our business has been killing. Our knowledge of life is limited to death. What shall happen afterwards? And what shall come of us?
But now for the first time I see that my enemies are children like me. I thought of their squirt guns, but now I see their fellowship. Why do they never tell us that they are poor devils like us, that their parents are just as anxious as ours, that they have the same fear of death, and the same dying. Forgive me comrades—we always see too late.
What’s that my friend? Jimmy just got killed? That means I’m in the final four! Once more unto the breach dear friends!
