March 18, 1790. It was a horrible day. All I could this about was how torn I felt about this war. Should I go? All of my friends are, but that is not a good reason.
"King" Louis XIV must not care about us. We, the French people, do not agree with how he treats us, and apparently he does not care. Our sides have been clashing for around one year, and nobody has budged. Many of my townsfolk, here in Bel-Aire, have left to fight the monarchy, some of which are my friends. Before he passed, my best friend, Optimus Prime, gave me his reasons for going. He started: "|1- Our friends are 2-Why not? 3-..." thats when they shot him. One of the king's soldiers overheard us slandering the king, and executed him on the spot. He told me that I would be next. So as I write this, I realize: I was meant to do this. I shall go, in honor of my friend. Of my townspoeple. Of my family. I will fight in this war, and the king will fall. I will leave when I find the best opportunity. If I do not write tomorrow, then I have already found my means of escape. Good bye, and blss your soul- French Prince of Bel-Aire.