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Death Chart

I killed a man today.

Even though I've been living in this hell, training for two years now, I've always sworn I'd never really kill. That I'd never let myself do that.

Today I did.

The man, I don't even know his name, had a gun pointed to Michael's head. His finger on the trigger.

I shot first.

It wasn't out of knowledge. Not out of skills or from all that training. The bullet flew from my gun out of instinct. And that's what scares me most of all.

I think I'm becoming one of them.


"Ouch!" I shout in to the dark after stubbing my toe upon the counter corner.

I'm searching for a marker in the dark. The light switch seems to have disappeared as well. And I'm so...tired.

My hand wraps around something round and slender. I've finally found the marker.

I turn to the paper that's hanging on the wall and put three tallies on it. The moonlight lets me count the others.

I killed three men today. That brings the total to eleven.

I killed eleven people. So much for swearing I'd never harm a soul; I'd never take a life.

I've taken eleven. All just to stay alive myself.

I've hated my life since I was thrown in jail. Now I'm starting to hate who I am.

I don't deserve to live anymore. What gives me the right to stay breathing while I keep taking that from others?

I'm starting to feel like I wouldn't like me if I was someone else and I met the current me.


A hand laid softly on my shoulder sends enough shock through my body to stop me in my step. I'm slowly turned around and find that I'm staring straight in to the green eyes of Michael.

He says not a word. He doesn't need to. His eyes so intently staring in to my own tells me all he's thinking.

He knows the mission went bad. He knows I'll break from it, if not now, then in a matter of time.

Am I alright so far?

Confirmed that I'm so far steady and still silent on my feet, he turns to go debrief with someone that will be akin to the devil with his temper today.

"Hey sugar." Comes the familiar greeting from to the right of me.

I turn and muster everything in me to manage a small smile for the sweet old man.

"You okay?" His gruff voice asks.

I nod to assure him I am. I find that I'm lying a lot lately. My whole life is made of lying.

At home, I stare sadly at my death chart, the marker in my hand is stilled.

I lost count of how many people I murdered today.

The intel was faulty and we walked in to a trap, filled with men with guns.

I used mine to save myself. And killed those trying to kill me.

The memory of today and all the yesterdays past are tearing me up inside.

I lost count of the my personal death toll. And I'm starting to lose the knowledge of why the hell I
fight so hard to live anymore.

My soul is disappearing. I fear soon I shall be gone too.