There's a seething anger somewhere from within the crevices of my mind that tells me the bones making up my skeleton are remnants of a legacy that has long since been fought for. That the very life flowing through my veins is an accumulation of every bloodshed I was fortunate enough to never live through, and that every move I make is a mere echo of a life whose price I never got to pay.
My being here is nothing short of a history lesson already foretold.
Why then should I stay silent?
