The nights grow darker every time I'm on duty. No matter how effective my weapons are or how many people I have backing me up, I still feel like a child, alone in the dark. Those reds, they could be anywhere, ready to attack. They're monsters.
My family are proud of me. "My son's a soldier" I can hear my father speak. But why is it when I fight, do I feel so sick, to the pit of my stomach? I'm just doing my job right?
Yesterday I killed a child. A little girl, not much older than my own. She was so small a fragile - just skin and bone, crouching in the shadows, squeezing her eyes shut. I don't even think she heard me coming. I heard her screams in my dreams last night, and I know it won't be the last time I hear it.
When you die, you don't go to Hell, there is no Hell in the after life - this is Hell and I'm living it now.
This is really good. I'm writing a monologue like this myself for English and yours is theist example I've read! :) Happy writing!!
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