In Which I Lay Down My Arms

I.

The smoke swirled about me so thickly I could barely see.  In the terror and confusion, my shot rang out, cutting through the cacophony of other shots, and to me it was as if it was just me out on the field.  And then the silence.  The dust settled, and as I got my visual bearings, I saw him there, lying wounded and dying by a dozen bullets.  And in that moment, I knew that no matter how many bullet wounds he bore, it was mine that hurt the most, mine that killed him.  I sank to my knees in shame and cried.

God, forgive me.

II.

I had always been a pacifist.  Always refused a gun because I knew the devastation they could cause.  Always cried out against war, against violence, against senseless death.  They called me weak.

I don't really know what changed.  Maybe it was watching my brother die in front of me that dark day three years ago, betrayed by our father.  Maybe it was a righteous desire to do something, anything, to bring peace to our world, to stop the deaths from piling up.  But one day, I picked up a gun.  And I began my descent into hell.

III.

I couldn't stop crying.  No, I'd never known him particularly well, never formed a lasting bond.  But he was one of us, one of our band, out to save the world.  We'd had such high hopes, such big dreams.  Together we'd make a difference.  We would bring peace.  Our violence was a necessary evil; it would bring an end to violence.

IV.

I am not sure how it happened.  What started as just another night around the campfire, just another go around the sun, turned into a heated debate, a scuffle near the fire, and then, the shot rang out.  All hell broke loose.  There was running and screaming.  And then, gun shots.  Survival of the fittest.  And, when it was all over, he was gone, dead in a pool of blood.  And I am sure it was my shot that killed him.

V.

As we huddle at the outskirts of the dying fire, each lost in a sea of shock and guilt, I know I will never be the same.  I will never fire another shot.  I consider my options.  I stagger to my feet, pulling my gun with me.  I walk toward the dying fire, and throw it in.  I turn and walk away, allowing the tears to fall as I do.  

I will forge a better way.

In that moment, I am reborn.