The little boy crouched in the mud, he was panting heavy after running for cover. He fought back the urge to cry, but felt a tear come to his eye, his heart was racing as he felt a trickle of his own blood come down his forehead and mingled with the cold sweat on his brow.
He looked across at the buildings and houses, a couple of them had collapsed from being hit by a mortar or tank blast. There was a thick smell of sulfur in the air, gunpowder mixed with fire.
The little boy refused to be afraid. He was told never to be afraid, never feel fear, always be brave or the enemy will win. He didn’t know where his friends went, but they all went different directions right after the blast. He felt alone, lonely and scared. He knew some of his friends might be dead, and he knew that at any second he might die too.
Something moved in front of him, the little boy knew that no matter what happened he had to be ready to fight. Whatever danger might come at him, whatever the enemy might be he had to stand his ground and fight, be brave and not let the enemy inject fear into his heart. This was easier said then done.
In truth this little boy felt a lot of fear, a lot of anger too. Many emotions gripped him all at once- anger at those who put him in this situation, desperation, hate, misery, pity, anguish and most of all fear. Fear even thicker than the smoke and ashes, fear gripping his throat, chocking his lungs, burning his eyes, slowing his mind and weakening his arms and feat.
He moved, as if made of rubber, as if moving through a thick haze, in the direction he thought he saw the movement. It could be anything. It could be an animal. It could be a friend! But worst of all, it might be the enemy.
The enemy, heartless and soulless, always trying to kill and destroy the little boy by any means. It could take up any unexpected form to destroy him. He must be brave and he must be ready.
There was a shout, a scream! A figure leaped up from the rubble near him and came screaming at him!
Without a moment’s hesitation the little boy lifted his gun and fired at the screaming figure! The figure let out a deafening howl and fell down before he reached the little boy. Blood splattered all over the little boy’s uniform, absorbing into the military camouflage pattern of it.
The little boy cautiously stepped forward, keeping his military rifle pointed at the figure in case it wasn’t dead yet. To his horror, the little boy saw it was just another little boy he had just shot, even younger than himself, and who was clutching a live grenade in his hand.