Soldiers. They shoot and see the bodies fall in the distance, never really seeing the face of the one they had just killed, never seeing the blood seep out of them, never seeing their emotions as they came to the realization they only had a few fleeting seconds left. They would never see the life leaving the ones the kill and their eyes dimming.
But I am not among those ones.
I see the ones I kill as an individual.
As I shoot them, I see their faces.
As I see them fall, I see their emotions pour out in the split second.
And when I kill them, I see their eyes dim.
One by one, time after time, I see them die every single time.
The sound of stone falling aside cut through my thoughts.
As I look down onto the blood-soaked battleground, a single survivor drags himself free from the remains of what once was a bustling market. He gasps for breath, then falls forward onto the bloodstained sand, covered with the wreckage and mangled bodies of his felled comrades.
I move my finger slightly.
Through all the dirt and grime, I can still feel the cold, metallic touch of the trigger.
Slowly and carefully, I raise my gun and aim his head.
Instant, painless death.
The boy suddenly pushes himself off the ground. He stands up unsteadily and staggers forward, stumbling among the corpses, blood streaming from his hands and legs as he cut himself over and over again on the remains of what used to be his life.
Desperately trying to live on.
My finger stiffens and I smile bitterly to myself.
I have already killed so many innocent people, this boy should be no different.
Murderer, the word was bitter on my lips.
Below, the boy stumbles and falls among his comrades. I see him look around at the corpses around him. I wonder how many people among them he knew.
The boy suddenly attempts to run forward, stumbling and tripping, cutting his hand open as he threw it out to break his fall.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
His blood, crimson in the burning sun drops and soaks into the ground, leaving no trace behind.
He collapses beside a body and turns it over, his blood soaking into the ripped, dirt covered clothes.
The face of the body was covered with a mixture of dirt and blood, the face was distorted in a grimace of pain, shock, and fear, but the face was still unmistakably female.
An ear-splitting cry echoes through the deserted battleground, cutting through the dead silence.
Below was the boy kneeling next the young girl, his hands placed on her shoulders, pleading to his God for an impossible miracle, that she still would be alive. He shakes her lifeless body, and as her body turns, a dark patch of dried blood on her back reveals itself. She has been shot in the back by a sniper.
She was a victim of the profession I carried.
How many young lives had I ended, just like that I wonder.
My orders were to kill them all. Every last Ishbalan survivor that managed the live through the earlier fights will die.
Self-disgust flooded my body for what I was about to do.
My finger tightened on the trigger as I aimed the gun.
For a brief second I closed my eyes.
I'm so sorry
I pulled the trigger.
An instant and painless death.
The Ishbalan boy let out a gasp, which was cut in half as he fell forward, his body falling across the girl. The light faded from his eyes as his body became no more then an empty shell.