Evil can only be created.
“21!I was meant to be having the experience of my life. Yet I had no dreams. I thought to myself it’s my duty to serve my country. My father was finally proud of me. NO. I wouldn’t be a screw up. I'll be doing something right for a change. I seem to remember myself repeating.”
“There was nothing to look forward to. So I decided to enlist myself. And it worked out for a while. I actually felt as if I was doing something worthwhile. It had just been settling in. Teaching the young Afghan's how to defend themselves. It had been really rewarding.” I’d actually felt I'd give my life for them. They were and still are the most selfless people I've ever met. The most loving.
War isn't always pointless. Humans should not be trusted. Sometimes evil has to be stopped with force. “Sometimes reasoning does not work. It’s not like I’d had to kill anyone, I kept telling myself .” What do you mean?” I'm just helping young kind men survive in this heartless world. I am doing the right thing. “You see. You will never understand. What they have to go throw every day. Just to survive.” How could you ever understand? “Try me?”
“I remember the excitement. I was just minutes away from my first experience of what war was/is truly like. The gun shots were thrilling. I could’ve been minutes away from death. But it was too late to doubt. My heart started to pound so loud I couldn’t think. The man screamed at me to go. Before i answered. I started to run. Shit. I used up all my bullets. I dropped to the floor. Out of reach. Disappointed in myself. I felt like such a screw up.”
I lay on the floor. My heart had already began to beat violently. Claustrophobia had overwhelmed me. I felt myself being sucked into the dried, deadly soil. Until suddenly a man grabbed me by the wrist with his sweaty palm. He screamed at me. My brain awoke. The man had called himself Oliver, my respected commanding officer. Reminding me of my little brother back home, only five years old at the time. Regret passed through me. I missed him. Oliver gave his last commands and went into the battle field. He’d practically committed suicide for me. Only two minutes after I’d talk to Oliver, his body was blown into little pieces. BOOM. His blood splattered on my scarred face, the fresh blood trailing down into my open mouth. Causing me to gag at the sickly thick texture. Reminding me of iron. I could still remember the taste of his piercing blood. I knew I had to see through his last order, in respect. Oliver, the most courageous man i've ever worked for.
I was fighting for my country, I reminded myself. I had to do it right? They were the enemy. They deserved it. Oliver had to get his last command. Yet I hadn’t signed up for this. Reality decided to cut my thoughts short. I was there. It was too late. With one shot the little boy fell to the floor. No emotion was needed. I didn’t even have to see his face.
Regret passed through me like a distorted ghost. I felt like I was going to faint. Feeling the now dry blood hardening my bottom lip, I ran to the innocent boy. As I watched the five year old gasp for his last breath. Not even knowing his name. I cradled him like he was my own. The snot was creeping down my throat, it almost caused me gag for air. What had I done? It all happened way too quickly. The gun shots were maddening. I could still hear them echoing inside my ear drum. It was as if the world had gone on without me. Leaving myself sickened by what I’d done. It stank of burning flesh. Yet I’d become too used to the smell. How could this little boy had been of any threat? He was nowhere near becoming a Taliban. He would have been a jolly typical 14 year old, just like my little brother. Vomit was rising up my throat. I can remember gasping for air, while throwing up large amounts of thick red blood. Weakening me further.
The poster had only said ‘We need you’. I guess they decided to leave out the part where you had to kill innocent women and children. Yet I feel there is no one to blame. My heart is now empty.
“After the limp little boy let out his last sound, there was utter silence for a split moment. As I allowed myself to be removed from the situation. Pausing time, I looked at the motionless body in my arms, finally at peace. 2004, January 3th was meant to be a new beginning to the better, It was the day my life had changed forever”.
“I chose to pull the cold trigger; I chose to murder that child. I carry the guilt, be the one spat on.” Despite yourself trying to hide it, you
lean back in your chair and ask me to bare my soul, because that is why I’m here. To tell you my story. I’ve been told by doing this I’ll create a new path in life. So why the shock on your face? “Go on? Tell me how did you deal with your pain?”. “Deal with my pain?” I look now at my bandaged wrists, the blood creeping through. “You see telling my story will not release me from this grasp the spirit left on me. The pain will stay with me for ever more”. Don’t bother with bitter disgust. I’ve lived with it for nine years; I’m used to the meaningless stares. Do you now see? Why I tried to end my miserable presence.” It’s as if I’m a lingering ghost awaiting my destiny. Yet I feel I should take action as I’ve waited long enough. “Nobody would notice the middle age, empty man disappear and so I ask you a question I already know the answer to. When will I be allowed to be at peace?” Secretly I’d always known that the child’s face will be trapped in my soul for ever.
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