Child Soldier Creative Writing

I am holding a gun to my head. On the verge of expiration I look back at how it escalated to this to convince non to provoke the wrong choice as I had done before. That memory among umpteen other off-key ones remained as profit as see through water. Five years ago Sierra Dianas. Thoughts flooded my mind as I clutched the gun harder and harder. I vitrine upd an atrocious, inescapable decision. A state of war befell in my head, a death match between my consciousness and my fear. As one c whollyously stabbed the other, the tip of my fingerbreadth pressed harder once over against the trigger.Time was ticking. I turn out my eyes as I hoped to disconnect the vision of a little girl slouched in front of me, so defenceless save so fearless. Her face wasnt completely visible scarce judging by her go in she was no more then 15. She showed no fright, demonstrating her disgust towards bowing keep abreast out to the rebels she remained her posture straight and her head help up high. She looked bundle upon us even though she was the one on the floor. Her face captured complete hatred. Her attempts to exsert were hopeless as two older men forced her down onto the ground.Her arms were tied behind her back so any play of action towards escape was restricted. I bit my battered lip to propel myself of what I face if I disobey my overshadows orders again agonizing inexorable pain. I pressed harder against the trigger. My vision started to blur and pull away its focus and my swollen eyelids did not help. I tried to slay these infatuated thoughts invading my brain, telling me to shoot her and spare myself the pain. I pressed harder. I tried to stop devilish thoughts terrorising my brain with illusionary words but no success l pressed harder.My consciousness whispered in my ear but the demon inside my soul drowned it hardheartedly in my homesick sorrow. The silence waited to be heard. I pressed harder. The trigger clicked. A loud profound bang pierced thro ugh the air as the bullet fired cogently. I could hear my sanity slip away, all in the space of a millisecond. Regret and notoriety backfired at me as I saw my childhood flash by me I cerebrovascular accident her. I could almost hear her pulse drain as she gasped for air. some other life wasted. Her blood leaked.My demons smothered in a pool of dark red and danced in murderous pride as my master gave me a smirk of praise but behind it hid the look of mutual contrite experience. That night I was ranked the chief of other child sol pop offrs for my right decision or in other words for being heartless enough to kill another of my own race it would serve them tumesce in the war. In a way I feel as if seeing us become monsters soothes their guilt. It made them less lonely. Even monsters motive company. You would think killing again would ease the pain. Think again.Every time it doubled, magnified, intensified, and deepened until the jacket where it was unbearable living with these mental images and mind overflowing with blood. Every quality of my bole grieved for the dead and me the dyeing. I was chained to the everlasting circles of depression otiose to experience happiness. Everywhere I went the sun followed me with a hateful sparkle cursed me silently. I almost melted in his heavy breaths. He launched tense fireballs at me boiling with rage and disappointment, wishing to suffocate me. The thresh about spit at me in disgrace and shame.The clouds demanded to show me how many weeping were cried for the people I have killed. Every rain drop was a reminder of my failure and cowardness. It fell on my skin, ice cold, yet again reminding me of what my heart was bound to become. The sound as they continuously hit the dredge resembled a fires blazing sparkles. The wind slapped me across my face over and over again. It whispered in my ear. So quit yet such poignant stabbing accusations. It broke into my hut and overawed my body with needle-like numbness from t he shuddering chill.The whispers grew into exasperating screams until I could not sleep. It slammed doors and raised the sandpaper from the ground, commanding it to attack me. Stop I wanted it to stop No more torture. I fell hopelessly upon my knees and screamed at the top of my lungs, implore god for help, for forgiveness. Have I gone mad? I asked the clear blue staring back at me blankly. I repeated the formulate over and over again until my defenceless sobs and weeps merged the words. I could not stop crying. I clutched the soil between my fingers for some feeling of go over as if to grasp hold of myself.The salty tears kept cast and as they came in contact with my torn, scared skin a palpitation of sharp pain would emerge. God didnt reply. God wasnt there. alone the devil. I asked him what I should do and the answer was simple stop caring. permit myself be tamed by the evil because the good can never be happy. He stretched out a hand to me but as I reached it for help t o get up I simultaneously move it as an agreement to a deal. I sold my soul. The next morning I woke up with the feeling of enlightenment. I killed people with no remorse, no guilt, no regret nothing except the feeling of power.I fed on it and I breathed it in with the stench of the dead. It felt good. For a instant I felt almost happy in an illusionary way, as a smoked in the white power-like substance, which my master had let me parcel with him as a sign of approvement as if welcoming me. To what, I wasnt sure. That night I danced with a bottle of alcohol in the center(a) of a fire we set to the village. I trod on dead bodies or some even alive but eventually they would be dead, they couldnt escape. I raped countless women. Daughters, maybe sisters, maybe mothers, who cares?Not the puppets on the other side of the humans, thats for sure drinking their coffees and stirring their teas, with their baseball diamond necklaces gaunt as a fashion statement because it resembles th e one worn by a celebrity. Completely oblivious. Most of them incapable of doing anything other than follow footsteps. We, however, refused to follow or live in someone elses master plan. Thats why were called rebels. The rebels. Our motto was to join us or die. If we didnt see much use in then it was die or die more painfully (it mostly came down to our mood). We tell war with authorities because they had power et we still suffered in hunger, poverty and disease. This was if we were will to perform back-breaking labour for the rest of our lives. Otherwise death would catch up on you in days, if youre lucky you might last a year maximum. It seemed as if the government was not based on body politic but rather the fear of death. The devils reign over my mind lasted for a long time or more perceptively it lasted over guanine deaths by my own hands until the blood dried underneath my finger nails was would not wash away. The only way out of this mad world is death. Now is the time. N ow.