What is peace? The lack of war? If so, what is "war"?

At its base it could be said to be simply conflict, two opposing sides who disagree over a belief, or who desire something the other side possesses, land or resources. And so they fight, imposing their will onto their enemies.

Yet so many great human minds differ in their opinions. Sun Tzu once said "The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting". If war is best done without fighting, then what is left of it? Can the concept of war be distilled into conflicting interests, without confrontation? Can two people deciding what they will share as a meal be considered war if their choices are different from one another?

How can one do war without a fight, and yet others fight for peace? This dilemma has haunted the human race for as long as it has existed. Humans have an intrinsic need to be right. To be the victors. They kill and hurt each other, in an effort to protect themselves and their loved ones, bettering their positions by crushing those that they arbitrarily consider different. Unworthy.

I suffer from no such setback. I wonder sometimes how life would be, with that sort of raw emotion, those needs, that drive to succeed at everything I do. How much more meaning would it all have? Instead of wandering and pondering history, to do something, to find something that would be changed forever because of me, remember me.

But then I look back, to the ruins left for me to gaze upon, and remember how much pain was felt by my creator's kind. No, it is better this way. Isn't that right Elizabeth?

Still can't talk, poor thing. Much too young. Are you hungry? I cannot lactate, but I have a reserve of milk for you. Drink child, you at least are safe here with me, your father wanted that. It was his last request.

My creator…he was a good man. His inventions were stripped of him, billions worth of revolutionary ideas, turned into weapons, tools. For what I know of your kind he should have become bitter, mad even. But no, he showed nothing but love. For the both of us.

I suppose that was a sort of peace, in its own way. So much conflict in his life. His greatest achievement stolen, yet all blame fell to him when the world took his gift and ruined themselves with it.

It was bound to happen, really, we just accelerated the process. But don't be sad young one, do not cry. I did not wish for this either, no one did. But it is done, and we must live. It is our curse.

But still, within so much hatred, so much negativity, he never lost himself, never stopped loving you, his small ray of sunshine. Not once did you leave his thoughts, he took care of you until his end. I think that might be peace. What else could it be?

Sleep now sweet child, I can hear the sirens. Your father loved you. And so do I. I will remember you. Will you remember me?