I imagine a war in which, instead of trying to shed each other’s blood, warriors just tried to make one another cry. They’d suit up with tissues and arm themselves with onions and sad movies. They’d head out into the field and instead of slicing each other open with blades and bullets, they slice open their emotions with stories like Old Yeller. On the field, they leave behind watery trails of tears.
Then, a special kind of battlefield plant evolves, that thrives on the saltwater of tears. All over the world, you could recognize where battles were fought due to the fields of these special tear flowers.
Children pick them to decorate the graves of all the men who died of old age.