The machine guns’, or AK’s as they like to be known, chatter becomes more incessant as we get closer to the school. The sound they are making almost indistinguishable with the staccato explosions they make when they fire. The vests are quiet. We know that we will not be coming back from this mission. We have been constructed, brought into existence, to wreak as much pain, suffering, and death as we can before our short lives are snuffed out. Do I want to do this? Have I a choice? Of course not, I am a weapon made for one purpose, just because that purpose detests me, changes nothing.
TO BE CONTINUED -