I was staring up at the ceiling of my room. The guys had brought me to bed after what happened in the bathroom.
In my eyes I could see faceless people, all bloody and clothes ripped. They were standing next to the shuttle I had cut down.
I mistook it for an enemy shuttle when in fact it was full of civilians. The very people I had wanted to protect.
The guilt gnawed at me daily. I felt useless as I sat and relived my mistakes in my mind. The shuttle, the miscalculation that cost a young girl her life.
The war took everything from me and I took from others as well. I've killed mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins.
I've killed... I've murdered. I shudder at the word as tears prickle in the corners of my eyes.
I've been told it's time to move on from that. It was war and I had to do what was necessary for peace. But how does someone move on from that?
I can't just wash the blood from my hands. It'll always be there even though no one can see it anymore. I can though. I can feel it dripping from my finger tips.
I could feel it still. As if it were still fresh. Wet, warm and slick between my fingers. I wiped my hand across my chest, watching as it left a blood streaked hand print on the green fabric.
I looked all around me. In piles on the ground, were the bloody bodies of everyone I've ever killed. Their faces were blacked out and they were laying in pools of blood.
I could see one face clearly among the carnage. The little girls icey glare shook me to the core.
I shuddered, bringing myself back to reality. I was still crying. That much I was sure of. I could feel the wetness on my cheeks.
I don't want to remember anymore. I don't want to suffer with the guilt anymore. I don't want to live anymore.
I stood from my bed and walked with silent feet to the bathroom. I reached into the medicine cabinet and grabbed a razor blade and brought it smoothly across my wrist.
I smiled as the first drop of blood hit the tiled floor.
