Talk:Attrition of War/@comment-7706473-20140718111544

War - war never changes.

Actually, strike that - I've always disliked that quote, despite how iconic it is. War changes constantly; it feeds off of itself with greed and impunity. The auto-cannibalism of a starving creature, perhaps; and that is one of the things that this story captures perfectly. There are no heroic battles of good against evil in the Attrition of War, but merely people wasting away in the aftershock of too much conflict. Tacitus wrote on war of it's ability to bring otherwise rationally-intended individuals into a fervor; this is, I think one of the first stories I've read in the category of creepypasta that attempts to address that.

Hel is an interesting protaganist, not only because he's a deserter; something which society would have us villify on sight, but because he's a father (or in a father-like position... In this world it's clearly rather complicated, ahaha!) and truly unready for either role. He's doing the best he can with what he has, and has to compromise between that and loyalty to his daughters - and you can see he's struggling with it. This alone, contrasted with the believable ruin of the world in-story is very spooky. Though I do not think there are too many parents or soon-to-be-aspiring parents among the readerbase here, everyone has someone they would wish to protect; perhaps someone they would even fight or die for; and perhaps still, someone they believe themselves to be ready to kill for.

But that isn't cool or praiseworthy; it just seems like something that happens here - regrettable and tragic. This - to my mind, this realism - combined with a surprisingly optimistic ending - are the strongest parts of the story. Though the font and spacing could certainly use some homogenization, and there were a few sentances that seemed a bit awkward, the only real flaw I can think of is that the story asks the reader to be invested in the family drama and the belief of war as an all-destroying force. For readers who can do that, this is a fantastic read. Menyanthes; for the mire that we make of ourselves, fading into a calm repose.