Two years ago.
Somewhere in the Sahara Desert.
In a dilapidated building, one among numerous that littered the desert grounds, chaos ensued.
Gunshots rang, screams of desperation and anger filled the room, rushing footsteps muffled by the noise.
"A few of them are hiding in the basement," Alaric, a younger version of himself, signaled to his partner.
He was equipped in his camouflage military attire, armed to the teeth, an Mk18 in hand, his sky-blue eyes peering through the thick goggles.
He slowly moved towards the entrance of the basement, slightly illuminated by the rays of sun peering through the broken roof.
Numerous boxes, which he believed to be filled with ammunition, were stacked together.
"I am sure they are hiding behind those," he thought to himself, taking a grenade from his belt.
Pulled out the pin and threw it into the basement.
The grenade fell with a thud, and he quickly tried to move away, and that is when he noticed, at the side of his eyes:
Someone moving from behind the boxes.
His eyes widened in surprise, then in shock.
It wasn't the enemy, but a child covered in mud, hair disheveled, bony fingers picking up the grenade curiously.
"Noo!!" he shouted, his body moving before his mind could process what was going on.
His arms outstretched, heart racing, he wanted to take back the grenade, needed to retrieve it, but it was too late; the fuse delay was up.
With a click!
BOOM!!
The grenade exploded, lighting up the other ammunition in the room.
The explosion grew larger, louder, and so strong its waves pushed him back, his head hitting the wall, collapsing with the weight of his mistake.
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"NOOO!!" he awoke in the military hospital, his head bandaged, body numb, tubes connected to his arms, yet he paid them no heed, his head ringing as the memories of the child's innocent eyes stared back at him.
He looked around frantically, breaths hitched.
"Silva, you're up," his commanding officer stepped in with a bright smile on his rugged face.
"Chief!..." he turned to the chief, eyes widened, brows furrowed in worry.
The chief sighed, understanding what he wanted.
"I knew something was wrong when you didn't wake up till now," the chief sat by his side.
In normal circumstances, anyone should have woken from his injury in at most hours, but he had been asleep for three days now, his vitals all okay, yet he refused to wake, seemingly afraid to face the consequences of his actions, or simply the weight of guilt keeping his eyes closed.
"Don't worry, you are in the clear..." The commanding officer took off his hat, a sad smile on his face. "It was my fault; the intel didn't mention any children..."
"Children!!!" Alaric echoed, his heart sunk at the mention of children.
"They we... weren't one..." he began to stutter, afraid for the answer to his question.
The commanding officer unconsciously answered, "Eleven."
"Eleven!!... Eleven... I..." Alaric began to hyperventilate. "I killed eleven innocent kids!"
"They weren't terrorists!?..."
"They didn't have any weapons!?..."
"They didn't threaten my life!?..."
"Aren't they those I am to protect?!..."
"She didn't know what..."
" Am I different from a terrorist..."
"What have I done?!..."
"Why?!"
Alaric mumbled to himself like a madman, and to be frank, he was sitting on the fine line between sanity and insanity.
The commanding officer lowered his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in understanding.
They weren't immune to the deaths they caused, just numbed to it as it was evil people they killed.
One more evil person gone meant a hundred innocent people saved.
Sometimes they had to kill the innocent who posed a threat, someone with a bomb, a child with a gun shooting at them, each with an aching heart.
Convincing themselves it was for the greater good, if he lives, more might die.
But to slay an innocent, an unarmed civilian who meant no harm, he had yet to venture into such territory, as he was still human.
Most, if not all, would have their mind and will shatter.
"Don't let it get to you. Five enemy combatants were neutralized..." Though those words were meant to comfort Alaric.
It didn't work, his breathing heavy, eyes absent as he repeated the word eleven over and over again.
"Hey!!" The commanding officer shook him, yet he didn't respond.
"Another good soldier lost," he gave up, stood from his chair, and began to leave.
"Don't let it get to you; this is part of the package," he gave him one last glance before stepping out.
Alaric heard none of it, muttering to himself, the image of the little girl in his mind.
.
.
.
Several days passed, and Alaric was given time off after several counseling sessions.
He stepped into his apartment, the musty air hit him, his nose unconsciously twitching, the only reaction his body made.
His gaze absent, steps slow and heavy, like a zombie with his life drained.
Somehow, he found his way to his bed and fell on it, dust rising, yet he buried his face in it.
The visions flashed through his mind, haunting him.
"Sigh," he sat up after a couple of hours, nose clogged from all the dust.
"I need to get something to eat," he said to himself as he rose to his feet, dragging his body to the kitchen.
There was nothing in the fridge; it had been ages since he came back.
He had no family, lost to a terrorist attack, and as for his love life, well, it had always been a rollercoaster.
He could never settle, always afraid he might die in battle and wouldn't want to leave the other person with the same hole his parents left in his heart.
A passing relationship maybe, but commitment, that never crossed his mind.
"I should go to the store..." He changed into casual wear and left for the store, head drooped, steps still heavy.
.
.
.
"Why do you look so down..." the cashier asked worriedly as he stood before her, his groceries in hand.
"Nothing, ma'am," he raised his head, sky-blue eyes meeting similar but clearer sky-blue eyes.
He was immediately entranced by her beauty; oval face, long lashes, beautiful red upper lips, soft angled brows slightly furrowed in worry.
Her blue hair flowed down to her waist like a waterfall.
She looked like a goddess. If it were any other time, he might have talked to her, maybe tried to take her on a date or two, but not today.
The image of the kid holding the grenade flashed through his mind, completely overshadowing the fleeting emotions he had for the girl in front of him.
"Don't worry, ma'am, it's nothing," he forced a smile, then walked away before the girl could say another word.
"She is very beautiful, but I don't..."
"Hey, mister," the girl's soft voice interrupted his thought.
He turned to her, the blue-haired girl running towards him.
"I am on my break now... Why don't you tell me what's wrong?"
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A/N
3/5