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Boil sat in the empty mess tent on an empty bench. The camp was quiet, always quiet after a battle, especially one where so many lives were lost. It wasn't hard to find a place to yourself, to get lost in your own thoughts. The clones were created to give their lives to the republic, that was his purpose and he was ready to give his life for the republic if asked, at this point he’d be glad to. So many of his brothers had already given their lives and seeing less and less of his battalion return after each battle hurt more and more. The end of the war was imminent at this point, whether they won or lost he found that he didn't care anymore. A year ago such a treasonous thought would have never occurred to him, he was tough, loyal, and eager for combat then. Now he felt broken and lost. He, like many of the other clones, went through the motions each day following orders without question. How long could he go on simply following others when it had cost him so much? He wished they hadn't been given the ability to have their own thoughts, emotions and ideas when all his life would be filled with was war and loss. He wanted more from life than this but this was all he’d ever have. He’d be a good soldier until the end, he just hoped the end came soon one way or another. Among his very few possessions, this was the one thing he couldn't stand to leave behind. Silly to carry it around. It was just one more burden to bring. But it was a burden he needed to carry. He hadn't been there and so he had to carry it with him. Boil looked down at the helmet sitting on his lap. It was scuffed but the hand drawn picture of Numa matching his own was still clear. “Well Waxer, I guess I’ll just soldier on like we always did.” He tucked the helmet under his arm, they were packing up camp tonight and he wouldn't forget it. Another clone had walked into the tent.
"Who are you talking to?"
"No one," Boil said getting up and leaving the tent. He looked down at the helmet under his arm and whispered, "this was more fun when you were here."