What am I? I've often asked that question myself...what am I? I don't mean in
appearance or name, but who am I in the soul? I might appear to you all
like just another eight-year-old boy, but I am so much more. Maybe you'll
learn, after you have heard all that I have to say.
My name is Ender Wiggins; I saved the Earth from destruction...I rid the world of an abominable foe that would have destroyed humankind.
Or so I thought.
It's a pity that reality has to come in and ruin all...one minute, I'm sitting at the command desk, giving orders to what I thought was a make- believe fleet; the next moment, when the fleet succeeded, I was told that it really did happen...I really had destroyed Earth's enemy. Strange isn't it? I am an instant hero, but I do not feel any of the glory one should feel. What I thought instead was, "I destroyed them...every single one of them. I murdered their queen and killed them all...I committed genocide. I am a murderer."
What am I?
Perhaps it was not my fault, perhaps I could lay the blame on Graff; after all, he was the one who brought me into all of this. He manipulated me! He used me! He turned the situations around! He brought me to Battle School and stole my childhood away from me! He used my sister to get me to stay!
Graff is the thief! It is Graff's fault! He is the one who molded me into what I am today! He is Baron von Frankenstein who created the abominable creature! Graff is the murderer! Graff is-
No, that is not true. I have killed before. I killed Bonzo Madrid...I had to. Human nature states that self-preservation comes before anything...they didn't need to tell me. I knew I killed him.
Valentine had told me that I am not a killer...but I know that only she thinks that. How does Bonzo Madrid's mother feel? Is she celebrating the triumph of her son's killer? Is she mourning for her beloved son? Or is she cursing me; praying for my death? I know I cannot be forgiven. Mine was a sin that cut deep into a mother's heart.
Isn't it ironic how it is the killers who try to lay the blame elsewhere...and it is only they who don't believe their own lies? Perhaps I am like that.
What am I?
I am drowning in this room. The air is choking me. I cannot breathe. I am drowning...drowning in shame.
This is my guilt, this is my crime.
I can not rid myself of it.
What am I?
A machine, strung out to kill.
A war hero.
A little boy.
What am I?
My name is Ender Wiggins; I saved the Earth from destruction...I rid the world of an abominable foe that would have destroyed humankind.
Or so I thought.
It's a pity that reality has to come in and ruin all...one minute, I'm sitting at the command desk, giving orders to what I thought was a make- believe fleet; the next moment, when the fleet succeeded, I was told that it really did happen...I really had destroyed Earth's enemy. Strange isn't it? I am an instant hero, but I do not feel any of the glory one should feel. What I thought instead was, "I destroyed them...every single one of them. I murdered their queen and killed them all...I committed genocide. I am a murderer."
What am I?
Perhaps it was not my fault, perhaps I could lay the blame on Graff; after all, he was the one who brought me into all of this. He manipulated me! He used me! He turned the situations around! He brought me to Battle School and stole my childhood away from me! He used my sister to get me to stay!
Graff is the thief! It is Graff's fault! He is the one who molded me into what I am today! He is Baron von Frankenstein who created the abominable creature! Graff is the murderer! Graff is-
No, that is not true. I have killed before. I killed Bonzo Madrid...I had to. Human nature states that self-preservation comes before anything...they didn't need to tell me. I knew I killed him.
Valentine had told me that I am not a killer...but I know that only she thinks that. How does Bonzo Madrid's mother feel? Is she celebrating the triumph of her son's killer? Is she mourning for her beloved son? Or is she cursing me; praying for my death? I know I cannot be forgiven. Mine was a sin that cut deep into a mother's heart.
Isn't it ironic how it is the killers who try to lay the blame elsewhere...and it is only they who don't believe their own lies? Perhaps I am like that.
What am I?
I am drowning in this room. The air is choking me. I cannot breathe. I am drowning...drowning in shame.
This is my guilt, this is my crime.
I can not rid myself of it.
What am I?
A machine, strung out to kill.
A war hero.
A little boy.
What am I?
