The columns begin low. Not much taller than I am. The United States had just entered the conflict, the death toll was still low. My phone vibrates, notifying me i’ve just entered 1962. My route continues around in a circle, getting deeper and deeper into the jungle. I am periodically notified according to my location. By 1968, I have begun descending downhill, by now, the columns are towering high, waving their lights and rustling in the wind. They bump into one another from time to time, the sound is soft, but it startles me. The intensity has somehow increased. I’m lower, deeper, further in than i could have imagined. As a stare at this glowing column, it begins to intensify. A woman approaches from behind me and stands next to me. We exchange smiles; warm, but somber. I continue my course, ascending the hill now, i can see an opening; an end. The columns begin to recede again and the mood lightens.
The center of the memorial is void. 


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