He turned around sharply. Black flashed before his eyes.
He stood on the steps and stared down. They were clearing the countless bodies inside the building now and at the bottom of the stairs was a huge pile of them.
He tried not to stare at them, but couldn't help it.
A child with a bullet wound. A mentor with a slice through the abdomen. A student punctured through the stomach.
Their sightless, glazed, long dead eyes stared up into the sky they'd never see again. There was a huge crowd at the bottom of the entrance now. Some of the people were holding up signs and cheering for the eradication of the war-loving murderers.
From his hiding place his gaze shuffled through the crowd. There was a tired mother pushing a nine-year-old boy with bright, curious eyes away from the spectacle.
He believed that if he'd saw that horror when he was a nine year old he would have cringed, and cried out at all the terror in the universe. He wouldn't have been able to handle it, not what the bodies looked like, but what they stood for. Pure evil.
But it's not evil, he told himself. They're gone now and you did it. You should be proud of yourself.
There was a little girl with brown hair lying lopsided at the bottom of the stairs. Her little pigtails were matted with dust and sweat and tears still stained her cold cheeks. Her brown eyes, glazed with the spirit gone from them stared up in frozen horror at whatever she'd seen at her end. Her head lay at the bottom of the stairs, her legs and arms were lopsided and lying in a sickening, unnatural position above her. A cauterized wound was visible beneath her robes.
He looked away before he could notice any more. It reminded him of everything he'd regretted. A match was lit, and thrown onto one of the bodies. Soon enough, the entire pile was in flames.
He watched as the flames slowly creeped over the girl's smooth skin, it hissed and spluttered and left it black, bleeding, and charred. The hair slowly melted away, but the face's expression of terror still remained. He scrunched up his hidden face at the sight.
The pile was now blackened with ash. They dumped water on it to prevent the fire from spreading. There were cheers from the crowd, as they were dismissed and pushed away by the guards.
He went inside. The air was still, most likely cold. It was dark and there was rubble everywhere. It felt like death. With weakened senses came greater understanding of his surroundings. Somehow.
He still had a slight limp. It slightly bothered him, but he pushed it aside. It was hard enough, however, to feel the ghosts' dead eyes all around him. He wondered if the little girl had joined them already. He thought of his own little girl. Pigtails bobbing up and down, warm brown eyes shining at the good she saw in the universe.
With permission, he left the site and forgot about his loving family, whose ashes still burned within the hole in his heart.