Hello everyone, you can call me Michael.
Since this place is full of stories which can't be judged as real or fake, I wanted to create a little topic to get some things off my chest.
Essentially, I'm a killer and I find it strange I don't feel remorse.
I served in the military, saw action, and killed people. With weapon, knife, and bare hands alike, people who saw me coming and people who didn't. My father also served, before me, and also saw action. The thing is, I think I'm a bit different from him. I used to ask him to tell me about the fights and the people, but it's something he would always refuse to talk about. I assumed, of course, this was natural. Most of his friends were the same, and those who did tell me stories had a sense of reverence about them.
After my tours I was told to seek counseling, it was mandatory. I sat in a little room with a man who ranked above me. There he asked me about myself, family, history, and the "events" as he called them. I had no trouble talking to him about it, and because of this he insinuated I had a problem. Because I had no regret, reverence, respect, whatever you might want to call it for what I did.
I understand the world see's taking a life as something unforgiving. Though, honestly, to me the act doesn't have much weight to it. There were multiple scenarios: Him or me, clear the path, safe or iffy, ect. I killed armed, unarmed, casualty and the like. It all felt irrelevant.
I'm not saying I enjoyed it, mind you. Simply that, in my eyes, the people I killed and who died around me were nothing. People, and their lives, in general are irrelevant to me. I served because it was required of me, both lawfully and traditionally. I killed because I was forced to, and because I had the option to. Adults, teenagers, children. It just never bothered me. Still doesn't.
I just feel like I should talk about it, so feel free to ask any questions if you like.