Personal Narrative: Genocide

The dark of night lay subdued upon me like a stifling blanket, hindering my escape. Running beneath the twinkling of stars, I checked my pocket for the security of my blade. I grasped the handle with a sense of dependence for the cold rigid grip. After running for some time, I found myself near a soldier in a wheat field. Without hesitation, I delivered the soldier to death, beginning my mission. Observing his eyes rolling into his head, his jaw relaxing, his chest resting upon the dirt, and the smell of fresh blood—ha!—I knew I would never turn back. After I had committed my first murder, I became heavily devoted to killing with a bitter taste of sweetness for my homicide tallies. After I had killed my first soldier, I knew to depart far from the scene.
The enemy, had always been the government at war with my country. My country has a desirable coast, helpful for trading and defending with our navy. All my life, we have been at war without mercy. Detesting the adversary, due to unimaginable horror both sides have practically committed genocide. Living as a child, under a roof threatened of our rights my parents and I struggled. I couldn’t imagine how I would survive without my parents, telling me stories every night and putting me to bed.
I couldn’t think about the struggle I would have without my parents, until I had to. Watching them die at 13 years old destroyed me. I felt my heart sink, the crack of an axe ripping through wood. That night I remember hearing soldiers outside the