My problem was not with the class.

Quite the contrary, I adore History.

I have a problem with the people in the class.

They laugh at suffering.

This action alienates me from the people in my class, as I do not participate in the supposed merriment.

Some laugh at the images as a defense mechanism to protect themselves and shield their true reaction from their fellows.

Others simply find it stupid and poke fun at the gruesome documentary, whispering profanities and insulting the soldiers.

I don’t fit into either categories.

This is exactly why I found it hard to concentrate whilst we watched a documentary on World War One.

I stopped writing in mid-sentence, listening to the classmate next to me.

“Please!” he mimicked, flailing around pathetically, “shoot me, shoot me!”

He was imitating the men caught on the barbed wire while charging the opposing trench.

My hand tightened around my pencil, making it creak in protest.

I would not yield to my temper.

I would not lower myself to their level.