Mother Crazy
The mission had been taxing, to see such similar conditions as memories I prefer to ignore could recall for me. I had killed, though my superiors told the team not to. I did it swiftly, with pleasure, enjoying each last breath, each futile struggle, every last curse upon me.
It reflected in their eyes: my own people watched me as we returned, they watched me and said nothing. Really, they are not so much my people, just people I know, people sharing the village I sleep and train in, live and work for. We share blood on our hands but they are not my people, not those who would watch and not understand, not accept.
Death is ours to command; and if I do so more readily than they, if I think less of it, it is not something to be wary of. We cannot be hypocritical, only tools.
Author: jagter se maan
Status: Complete