• The war had been on for three years already, and it didn't appear to be ending soon.

    Both sides seemed to be equally matched in all ways. Strength, numbers, even determination. The feud between the countries had first just been playful and teasing, but had grown to much more, something that can only be summed up in one word: hatred. Both now had the desire to wipe the other off the face of the earth, even though both were decent countries and had not done anything wrong.

    The story is similar to the story of two brothers. When they were little, it was just teasing. Normal, right? Of course. Siblings tease and fight, but then get up and play. But something was different with these two. Over and over again, the little brother, Jonathon was found at fault and punished more severely than the elder, Edward. Unknown to them, this was because of the fact that Jonathon had been adopted when the family's friends had died. Edward was definitely favoured. This caused Jonathon to lash out, which caused the Edward to defend himself, which caused the dislike to heighten. In a few years, this escalated to full-blown hatred--Jonathon to Edward because of the favouritism, Edward to Jonathon because of Jonathon's adversarial behaviour.

    Of course, they looked okay to the outside. But rarely is anything as it seems. Edward joined the army out of a sense of duty, and Jonathon followed shortly, but with very different reasons: revenge.

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    John sat in the trenches. It had been exactly three months since he started fighting. Three months with which to perfect his plan. It was simple, really. Shoot his Ed in a place that will kill him, then run out in a startled and confused way. Act remorseful.

    He'd debated on only doing the first step, just shooting him. His mind argued that no one would see where the bullet had come from. But what if they did? That could be trouble. So, he settled on making it look like a mistake. His commander would never, not even for a moment, believe it had been on purpose. No, John had made sure of that. He looked perfect, as he was kind and caring to the commanded and his fellow troops. He was great friends with everyone.

    The next problem was getting out of the army honourably. He'd deal with that later.

    John glanced out over the battlefield. His brother, like always, was in the thick of it. John, on the other hand, rarely left the trenches. He did his part from there. Maybe he didn't do as much as some of the others, but he was okay with that. He hadn't come to defeat an army; he had come to defeat a brother.

    Today was the day. John's fingers trembled in anticipation.

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    He was eight. Johnny's fingers trembled in anticipation. He could hear the crowd, finding their seats and then chatting amongst themselves. Around him were kids in extravagant costumes. You could almost feel the nerves in the air. Everyone was nervous. Everyone except Johnny. It was odd, really. He was the lead, so he should be nervous. But he wasn't. His thoughts were focused on one thing: this was his moment to shine. His parents would be out there, as would his brother. Finally, he would be appreciated! This night was going to be perfect.

    And that it was. He never missed a cue, and he said all his lines with emotion. His eight-year-old heart was brimming with pride. He never saw his family in the crowd, but that was okay. They had to be there, somewhere.

    This was his day to shine.

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    At first, Ed wasn't sure what--or where--the strange feeling was. But soon it made itself clear. Awfully, horribly, completely clear: he had been shot. Panic rose up in him, but he buried it, telling himself that soldiers don't panic. It was only his arm, he realized. He'd be fine.

    He made his way back to the trenches. The pain was bad, but not unbearably so. Ignoring it, he glanced up, only to find himself in the gaze of his brother. John's eyes were full of anger, which he quickly blinked away. Ed's eyes, on the other hand, were mostly full of regret.

    Long ago he had wanted to end the feud. But ending a fight takes the effort of two people. He had done his part, forgiving his brother and asking for forgiveness, but it hadn't gotten them anywhere.

    He glanced back down. With every heart beat, Ed's arm was throbbing.

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    He was ten. With everything heartbeat, Eddy's arm was throbbing. His mother was beside him trying to find comforting words. His father was parking the car.

    Eddy had only fallen down a few stairs, but the railing had been off getting painted, so he had fallen off sideways and landed on his arm. Now it was jutting out at an odd angle. His mother told him it would just be a minor break, and she was right. The doctor assured him he'd be just fine after wearing a cast for six weeks.

    His parents were pleased. That is, they were, until his mother glanced at the clock. "Oh," she said, looking at Eddy's father. "We forgot--Johnny. . ."

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    Someone else had shot Ed, and it angered John. Now for it to look like an accident he'd have to wait. First his arm would have to heal, and then who knew if he'd even get put back into the same troop?

    John shifted, needing to do something with the anger welling up inside him. He was masking it. He was good at masking it. How long could he keep it up, John asked himself as he looked at Ed. It's been three months already.

    John clenched his teeth together tightly in frustration.

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    Johnny clenched his teeth together tightly in frustration. The place was empty now. It was the perfect performance, all for nothing. Oh, sure, his friends said he was great. Their parents said it was amazing. It didn't matter. The one thing that did matter, that his family would see him shine, hadn't happened.

    Where were they? How could they miss this?

    And then, he saw the car drive up. His father got out and began saying, "I'm sorry, Johnny. Eddy--" But Johnny brushed him off. It was always his brother. Everything Eddy did was so much more important than Johnny.

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    Ed looked at John. He wished they had been put in different troops. Then, maybe, by the time the war was over John would have forgotten to be bitter. Maybe then their life-long fight would be over. Ed and John locked gazes. The stare lasted for a few long seconds. Ed softened his face into a forgiving look, which just made John even angrier.

    John tightened his grip on the gun, and Ed stared in disbelief. No, it could not end this way! The look in his brother's eyes made Ed completely forget the pain in his arm.

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    The look in his brother's eyes made Eddy completely forget the pain in his arm. Johnny's eyes were twisted in anger. He had never seen his brother this way. He glanced down at the cast, and then glanced back up at his brother. The tension in the car was thick. It stopped Eddy from making a joke about signing his cast. He settled back in the seat and closed his eyes, but not before catching a glare from his brother.

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    It ended today. No more waiting, no more wishing. Ed would not live to hear the trumpet tonight, John thought, an evil grin on his face as he grabbed his gun. The war around him, the soldiers around him, the trenches around him all faded away. In John's mind, it was just him and his brother.

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    In Johnny's mind, it was just him and his brother. They stood in the backyard together, Eddy with his new cast. "Eddy, Eddy, Eddy," Johnny taunted. "It's always about you. I don't even matter." And then he punched Eddy, hard.

    And so began their first real fight.

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    Ed gripped his gun. John would shoot him. He didn't doubt it. And yet, he wanted to live. He really wanted to live. He raised his gun at the same time John did. Ed forgot about his arm.

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    Eddy forgot about his arm. With all his might, he punched back. Every time John hit him, he hit back, until his parents heard and separated them.

    The fight was far from over.

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    John pulled the trigger.

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    Ed pulled the trigger.

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    Two shots rang out that day, but the sound was only of one. When the gun smoke cleared, two soldiers of one army lay dead in the trenches.

    They were buried beside each other on a hill, Jonathon Peter Thompson and Edward Theodore Thompson. To the world they were two of the many victims of a tragic feud between countries. To those who knew them best, however, they were victims of a tragic feud, not between countries, but instead between brothers. Hatred had caused their deaths.

    That same fuel spurred on the war they died in. In the end, the countries suffered a very similar fate to the brothers. Neither won. After they were both weakened to where they could barely stand, their armies down to a near skeleton force, another country came in out of nowhere. So focused on their hatred, they didn't see it coming. Both were defeated in a matter of days.

    Hatred had wormed its way into their hearts under the disguise of mere dislike. Once there, hatred did what hatred does best: it took over. Soon enough, the thoughts, the actions, the words, of both the brothers and countries were tainted by hate. Edward had learned to forgive, but it was too late. Too much time had passed, and hatred was ingrained in their inner beings. Jonathon never did forgive. Will you?