The Soul Of A Terrorist

I smelled the foul stench of burning flesh and blood, both fresh and rotten.

I could hear screams from all the people around me as they tried to run,run for their lives,run from the sight and stench of decaying bodies and fresh newly spilt blood, run from the people trying to take their lives, run from the sight of their loved ones laying dead in the ground without a soul in their eyes.

I moved through the people running in terror and the bodies on the ground. Whether dead or alive it really didn't matter because if they were on the ground then they were too close to death for their fate to be changed anyway.

The flames around us flared so brightly, burning the bodies that stood in their pathway and trapping innocent souls. Now I sound like a hypocrite. Judging these bright fires for taking innocent souls when I'm no different. Actually I'm much worst. These destructive embers didn't even have a mind of their own.

They move according to the wind and were manipulated by the elements surrounding them. Taken control of and going where ever they're told because they couldn't say otherwise.

Me? I signed up for this. Not because I was forced to, or because I'm mindless but because of some forgotten, probably sickening reason. Here I am in the midst of all this chaos, with all these lives being taken, and all this destruction for some reason I can't remember.

I walked by one of my allies, who held a blade to a young woman's neck. She looked to be only 18 years of age, her brown eyes filled with despair, panic, and the most prominent emotion in them being fear, along with multiple tears that were being shed. She begged him to let her go, to spare her, that she would not do anything that could bother us.

His face said he was bored with her rambling while he pulled her long black hair back and applied a bit of pressure to the blade he was holding to her neck. She shivered, either from the fear she felt or the cool metal of the weapon.

She was crying much more now. The small little water droplets running quickly down her face, her cries were hysterical and you could tell she was desperate. As the tears spilled out of her eyes he pulled the blade,slashing her neck with the sharp edge.

Her head fell back, barely hanging onto her neck anymore while blood started to spill out. You could see the tear stains on her tanned skin. Small trickles of the deep red liquid spilled in the first second that soon escalated into, what looked like a small gushing red river falling from where her head used to be firmly attached.

I didn't feel anything at the sight. Nothing. No sadness, horror, or any remorse for watching the event unfold right in front of my own eyes and doing nothing. Just a dull nothing. Heck, I've done even worse.

I walked on from the horrifying sight as did my colleague. I stopped at some point and just looked around me, but I wasn't actually looking. Everything I saw was blurry and I couldn't make out the most obvious detail.

All of a sudden I felt a slight pressure to my side. There was a boy there. He was trying to reach for the gun in my chest holster, attempting to make sure I couldn't see him.

He looked around 14 years old. I couldn't be sure of his age though. He was wearing clothes that were too big and possessed a large number of rips. He hadn't noticed I caught him yet so I spun around, grabbed his arm, pulled him towards me. I stepped out the way before he fell on me and pushed him to the ground, grabbing hold of his shoulder and pinning his arm behind his back, making sure he couldn't move.

I had him in a tight lock with his shoulder being pushed down and his arm in a painful looking twist behind his back.

He managed to look up at me, from his place on the dry, rough ground despite the fact that he was flat on his stomach, and his arm looked like it could break any minute.