Dear Diary,

I dreamed of her last night, my golden ghoul. Being her knight in shining armor. It was quaint, considering I haven't seen her in months. Haven't heard her voice. The girl who has but to ask to take me from my chosen path. Not shot, not shell, nothing. It's going to be another one of those days.

Legs hurt, so I didn't run. Tried to make up for it with situps and pushups, but I was just tired all day. Not quite lethargic, but close enough. I hate the feeling, especially when I feel -know, actually- that I'm so far behind my goal and every moment wasted is another it's getting further out of reach. A lot of people say I shouldn't do it. A lot of people say I'm crazy. They're probably right- my body isn't ready for it. But I made my choice- I'm going to be a soldier, period. That's why I ticked those boxes, that's why I only wrote one profession: infantryman. I remember the recruiter's cockeyed glance. I can remember his tone. Imagine what he thought, saw.

This kid? Infantry? Not bloody likely.

Six feet plus, raggedy beard and hair, all elbows and knees. Skinny, a hundred and seventy pounds soaking wet. Doesn't look like he does his pushups. Can probably run, but how much can you put on his back?

I'll prove them wrong. I do nothing but (try to) work out all day. Sometimes, the doubt gets the better of me. A hug, a kind word from my ghoul and it'd all be better. I'd keep doing my pushups. I'm run some more. I'd give her the moon.

But she's not here.

Instead, I'm stuck. Things are bad, and only going to get worse. They say suffering is good for the soul - that's some consolation, I guess. I didn't choose this life to get soft.

Why this is hell, nor am I out of it.

DE

just wanted to reply that this was a great entry would be intresting to see what the rest of your diary looks like