I had to do it, can't you see that? I had to; he had been shot in the chest, the deadly bullet just missing his heart, but not by much. I had heard him cry out in pain as the bullet passed through him. I had heard him falling to the floor of the two story shack we were using as cover from the heavy rain of enemy fire. I had that sickening feeling as I began to turn, that one where you are going down stairs and miss a step.

I knew what to expect, I'd seen it before. Men falling, screaming and gasping in pain; just crumpling to the floor like a sack, with out a sound to mar their passing. But still, this was the worst I'd seen it. His chest was rising and falling as he gasped for air. Tears welled in my eyes as I gazed at the suffering man. My heart ached and pleaded me to help him, but my brain argued that it would be pointless. We were under heavy fire; to drag him to the medic ten would only doom us both. And even if I did attempt to get him there and, by some other worldly miracle, made it out alive, what hope awaited him there? Few men came out of that tent alive. Most came out, carried, in body bags. The few that were lucky enough to make it out of that god forsaken place were forever altered, and not just physically. I'd seen a number of friends make it out alive only to become a vegetable. What life was that?

But by simple looking at him I knew that the medic, an hour walk away, was no option for this man. The blood pooling around him was a good indicator of how long he had left; minutes at best. A few minutes with nothing but pain, suffering, the sounds of battle and dieing men around him, and, worst of all, the knowledge that this was how it ends. Never getting to see your loved ones again, dieing for a pointless, senseless war that was meant only to serve the rich and powerful.

Can you see know why I did it? Can you see the reasons that filled my head and tore my heart apart as, with a shaking hand; I lifted my pistol to the dieing man's head? Can you see it? Would you not have done the same?

I pulled the trigger. I heard the sounds of blood and gore splattering on the wall, the floor, my hands. My hands began to shake uncontrollably, tears threatened to spill. I clenched my fists to quell the shaking, closed my eyes to gate in the tears. Yet, one escaped; it slid down my cheek, leaving its salty, wet trail behind.

Now do you see? I had to do it. I didn't kill him; I freed him from the chains of life. The horrid thing that slowly tightens its hold on us, choking off that which it represents.

That's why I did it. That's why I write to you now, my family, to explain how my little brother was set free.