This story isn't very serious... but please do enjoy.

My name is Jackson. I was raised on my father’s farm. My father, Jackson, was a very rough and rugged sort of man. He was the kind of man you would call on to go to war… which is why the government came around to our house one day. He was picked up in the draft, but politely declined to do wanting to live an honest life. The officials were not happy. It was later that month that they came back, killed Jackson and Jackson, my mother, and kidnapped me. I was 15 at the time, and now after spending 8 years of my life polishing boots and guns for my commander Jackson, they finally decided to let me go to war. I wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of violence, and neither was my friend Jackson. We met in the barracks and got to know each other during our disgustingly short meal times. Jackson and I were I guess what you’d call best friends… but it felt rough not knowing if I had another friend out there. Our first battle, the battle of Jackson’s hill, had Jackson and I positioned in the same place… underground. We were moles in this war, this war against a nameless enemy. The amount of tnt and dirt that was dug up would be staggering, and if you could eat it world hunger would be an afterthought. We dug until our inner clocks were so ridiculously out of sync that the sun could be up and we’d still be craving a midnight snack. Our shovels kept spewing forth brown earth until Jackson dropped his into a hole that we made with our brainless digging. We looked down the hole and it looked like there was light underneath us. I quickly shoveled out enough room below us so we could slip into the pit. We landed with a thud after a 6 foot drop. Jackson and I lifted ourselves up to be met by the gaze of two other soldiers… from the enemy’s side. I dropped my shovel and raised my hands to the sky. Jackson joined in my surrender, but so did our opponents. We all soon came to the realization that all of us were not armed in the slightest, so we did the only reasonable thing, which was to greet each other.
They shared that their names were Jackson and Jackson, while Jackson and I shared our names as well. We decided that we’d hunker down and actually get to know each other. Jackson managed to light a fire while Jackson brought out some spare rations he had kept, and we started talking. It was a riot of a time, Jackson was a humorous fellow and Jackson had a few stories to tell of his own. It wasn’t until later into the night, or day, (I wasn’t entirely sure which) that something despicable happened. Jackson and Jackson had been traitors to our little brotherhood of hole-digging the entire time. During our talk a bullet ripped through Jacksons head, and another quickly followed the previous one, but into my chest. In my fleeting conscience I heard them talking to an armed soldier who they called Jackson. I coughed out blood as my vision went black.
I awoke in a dark room, thrown to the floor with no one else in sight. I could hardly breathe, as the bullet seemed to have punctured my lung. A bright light emerged from the side of the room, with the sound of metal creaking slowly to accompany it. I was picked up by my shoulders and hurled onto a wooden chair. I was aggressively tied down. Two men now looked over me, one man who seemed to be twice the size of myself named Jackson, and another, lankier man who played with a knife in his hands. The man with the knife came closer to me and said few words. He told me his name was Jackson, and that he wanted to know everything I knew. Sadly I didn’t know much. He didn’t like this very much. It was at this point I realized that my life had come full circle, only now I was in Jackson’s shoes. Men with power came to me and demand things from me I could not follow up on, and now I was met with my final hours. Days after days of being held in that cell, being tortured and humiliated, my life had met its end. Jackson came to me and asked me for any information again, and again I gave him the same answer, that I did not know anything. He took out a gun, and simply shot me in the head. My story was not an exquisite one, nor was it an empowering one, but it was my story. The story of Jackson.

(P.S. Sorry about wall of text... I'm lazy and don't understand this posting system at all.)