Author: Stetson and Fedora 1103 PM
To think this was supposed to be "fluffy." But anyway here is a small story thanks to a small prompt game. Enjoy...or not...Rated: Fiction T - English - Tragedy - Words: 502 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 3 - Published: 06-05-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3029464
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
As a soldier I looked upon the destroyed homes of families. As a soldier I killed man after man, soldier after soldier. I followed my orders to the letter, the letters of death. Why must we kill? For freedom? For some madman's personal gain? Or is it human nature. Well if human nature is to kill another man for our very survival, why do I feel the gut wrenching disgust in my stomach, the non-stop feeling the made me feel sick, morning, noon and night?
It's because we have the emotions, the free will to do so. We can disobey our orders, our leaders and our countries. Most would call us cowards for doing this, but this is no more than the simple choice that separates us from animals, because I am sure they feel no disgust when they feed on their prey.
My entire life I have followed the orders of blood thirsty animals, we would call them our Generals, our Governments and sometimes our own friends. I shot men down, I fired at innocents, I torched homes, and I caused many an explosion, the fireball that engulfed entire families in some cases.
Every day now, I see those men, woman and children whose lives I have taken, staring at me from the back of my mind. Their screaming never leaves my ears; I struggle to sleep at night any more, knowing that their ghosts haunt me in my nightmares. Why me? I ask myself every day. No other soldier I know feels this, not like I do. Is this because I have a conscience? Or some feeling of regret? Now because of this conscience I barely eat, sleep, talk and drink to keep myself going, ready to kill again.
It was either this or me dead on the streets I used to live on. This is normally when I begin to regret ever joining up, that if I died on the streets those families would still be alive, that some other soldier would be in my position. It may sound selfish but I don't care no more.
These constant headaches, the feeling in my stomach, sometimes I think of just ending it all, taking that gun and holding it to my own head, see how I like it! Then I think myself as a coward…my punishment is not over yet. Families screaming in my ear, my own men calling me a monster and all I can do is remain silent, well if they had seen what I seen, done what I done, then they would remain silent.
Is this truly my life now, blood and guts and the remains of children scattered along the floor I stand upon, I slowly kill the next generation for the weapons of mass destruction that I call the government. My hands are covered in blood…remember this, before I put that gun to my temple and take the last fatal shot…that will send me down to hell.