World War 4: Sticks and Stones

Peter's Hand

Outstretched was a hand. I was a fool to offer it. I could see in Ben's eyes a rage that I knew so well. I had felt it before. I had felt its embrace. I had felt the arms of it refuse to let go until I was entrapped. I knew his feeling. I knew the evil that it was, the pain that it caused. I also knew that it wasn't too late. Therefore, outstretched was the hand that I was a fool to offer. He looked at it. In a moment of lapse, or conscience or grief, he looked at it and he was scared. I could tell that all he felt were the bodies of the dead upon his shoulders where they didn't have to be. His grief turned back into rage. His sorrow to anger. His love, to hatred.  I knew immediately that he was not going to take my hand. I knew immediately that he was going to kill me, make me suffer. And when he did, I was not going to fight back. I deserved to die. I deserved even more to die by Ben's hand. And so I did not retreat my arm back to my side, but rather I cemented it there where it would never move until Ben did. In only a few moments, he did finally move. He grabbed the gun in my other hand. I could've pulled back, I could've stopped him, but I didn't. I was not going to fight Ben. It was not my purpose, not my place. I was deserving of death. I deserved to meet every single human being that I had cast into the shadows and I deserved to have them spit on me, to scrape at me, to mock me, to hate every single thing about me. That is what I deserved. I deserved no mercy, so I would ask for no mercy. I did not want to die, but it was I deserved. So when he grabbed the gun, I let him. And to my other side remained the hand that I was a fool to offer. In a moment, I found myself taken aback in great pain. The gun that I had allowed him to take had taken my throat into a wall. I hated everything about myself in this moment. I had promised myself that I wouldn't struggle against this fate, but I could no longer go peacefully. This pain had overtaken my muscles and in instinct I grabbed the gun that he had against my throat and I pushed back. I could feel just enough relief to ease the suffering. At every interval that I could, I took a gasp for air. I could feel my heart slowing down. I became tired. Every moment that I became closer to death, I felt the suffering decrease. I heard through my dying ears "You killed Eliza! You killed her!" I tried to retaliate. I tried to say something about how I was too late to save her, how I found her long dead on the road to this bunker, but I couldn't breathe. Every moment became harder to exist in, but death refused to take me into its arms. In the weakening light, I saw the shape of Destiny be thrown across the chamber. I wished so heavily that I could have stopped Ben, then I heard his anger grow fiercer. The flames of his rage brought a sickening smoke into my lungs. "If I don't kill you, Eliza died for nothing." I took a breath to try and say just a few last words.  I didn't know how she died, or who killed her, or why he thought that it was related to me, but I did know this: "she already did." His heart stopped. His mind raced. I could see in Ben's eyes the dying light of his soul, pierced by my words like a dagger. I had vowed to never kill again, but I had broken this vow. He became a beast, a monster. He swung at me with my emptied gun. In pure instinct, I ducked. I knew now that if I were to let him kill me, I would have killed Destiny in the process, so I grabbed a stick just to try and knock him off balance, not to hurt him. It did not work. In the next moment, I felt the worst pain that I had ever felt in my life, and I also felt the impact of a gun into my face. The words he spoke were so much sharper, so much deeper than the gun could ever go. I felt blood trickle out of my nose, I felt my mouth fill to the brim with blood, but it wasn't mine. Every time Ben spoke, I felt the blood of the people that I killed pour out of my nose. I didn't see Ben. I saw them. They screamed at me. "This is for us! You killed us!" Then they would hit me in the face with the gun that killed them. It was beautiful. It was right. I didn't want to die, but if this was the way that I would be killed, it was right. I got to watch the people that I made so deeply terrified terrify me. With every blow, I became less and less aware of the pain that I felt, and more and more aware of the people that I had killed. They were killing me now. I was at peace. I could die. I started to fade. I started to drift, I saw a light that I had never understood.