Forfeiture

I don't remember every face of every victim, but I remember this: that look in the eyes of someone facing their end, the mixture of fear, resentment, resignation. It was my job, just my job. I stole lives. Now they steal my sleep, my peace of mind, my soul. The men, the women and, God help me, the children. I am a haunted man.

The government asked too much from its soldiers. It asked too much from its citizens. It asks too much from me.

I have no family . . .

no friends I can trust . . .

and now I must forfeit my country . . .

It’s my turn to ask for something. I want my soul back.