In that moment, I felt it as pointless. Remembering the past, I can still see months dedicated to warfare: Silence tossed as grenades. Bitter words spat as machine gun bullets. Cease-fire time spent restlessly, seraching new ways to hurt the other side, to inflict pain, to convice them of our superiority, of our innevitable victory. Everything to conceil that mattered, to sustain a mask of indifference that both I and them knew to be false. I won none of those battles. They are meant to be fought, but never meant to be won. In that moment, I understood that it didn't matter, that I've done it before, that I'd achieve nothing in arming myself and jump into the trenches again. A bloody struggle had just been fought, with far more casualities that I'd have wished for - why starting a new one? So I stood still. Well, I didn't quite stood still, the ammunition has been spent on the range, aiming lifeless, cardboard targets. Harmless range fire, meant for me alone. For the rest of the world I remained still. The time of warfare is long since gone.