Seemingly quiet, he was like a fan chasing the moon, clutching an astronaut helmet mask. But when he saw me holding the gun—the same kind that had taken his sensei's life during that ill-fated field trip—he dropped it. The joy from earlier faded, replaced by a silence that screamed louder than any explosion.

I tried explaining my reasons to the boy, why he would end up like his sensei. I wanted him to understand, but the words caught in my throat.

A moment of silence continued as the boy and I stood encircled by the remains of war, lined up six meters apart, ready for action. Silently blameless, as he was entitled to be. The little boy who had just lost his friends—likely to a stray missile—and the school bus from which he emerged had me hesitating, driven by envy. I held a gun because I was terrified of his innocence and his courage to remain innocent.

How was I losing my cool and innocence in front of him?

Suddenly, a person—a doctor?—pushed the rifle I was clutching so tightly to the side.

How could I explain this? I thought. What was it that gave me a reason to slaughter my people? I felt like a boy in a man's body, boiling with regret. I had forgotten just how many people I had killed and how many more I could kill if I kept letting others dictate my actions.

"What the fuck do you know!?" I said, staring down in silence; his body was already in the ground.

I had shot the doctor. However, it hit me. Suddenly, my ears felt numb. I couldn't hear the explosions, and my finger weakened. It was something I hadn't felt so vividly in a long time, something I had been alienated from since the day I was forced to join the war. It was called regret.

As the corpse of the doctor fell to the ground, I quickly grabbed the kid and covered his eyes.

Then it hit me, a moment of truth. I felt courage swell up from the bottom of my stomach—a sense of urgency that would allow me to betray a whole nation for the safety of the people I loved.

"Hey, just tell me, kid! What's your name?" I asked, feeling guilty for my crimes. His eyes couldn't hold my ego, destroyed and slaughtered, the love God had surrounded him with: his teacher, the bus driver, his mother, and father. How could I be such an idiot? I couldn't leave him alone in such a place.

I prayed. I quickly sought to redeem myself. As selfish as it may be, I might never understand the pain I caused directly to this child. So, if it's your will, allow me the gift to serve him as a father.

"Do you want to run away from this place? What's your name?"

"My name is Aida Legoshi."

Had I realized the monster I saved that day?