Dead in his eyes and dead inside. His teenage fingers were wrapped firmly around the trigger of the gun he touted. In his belt was a hunter knife. He was a guerrilla in a war he didn't understand, as deadly as any man-made weapon. The violence in his life obliterated memories and emotions that could lead back to his inner child. He craved it like a drug addict, for if he ever recalled the goodness of his mother he would collapse faster than a tin can under a jack-boot. There would be no coming back from that. He didn't know it on any conscious level, but it drove him none the less and he was the monster he'd been manipulated into being.

By valentina10, October 4, 2014.