A bullet is beautiful when removed from its context, smooth and shiny and cool to the touch. It is simple yet elegant—its edges running upward to a point or a glinting, symmetrical hill. A child who didn't know better might mistake it for a pocket-size spaceship, or a tiny tower when set on end. They would not recognize it as a thief.
Yet thieves are exactly what bullets are. In the context of war, they rob countries of their men, men of their ideals, ideals of their virtue. They take breath and blood and thought, and let them lay in the mud of battle, scattered like shrapnel. They take sight and sound, life and limb, hope and courage.
And even if you safeguard all of that, there's still one thing the wartime bullet will always take: innocence.
http://www.pluggedin.com/movies/intheaters/warhorse.aspx
