"Because I needed to put them out of their misery," you respond.
His intense, bright, blue eyes. His sleek, long, brown hair. His smile that's hard to hate. You just can't get enough.
When it started, you were independent, only Flare was there to ac...
"So you know about weapons and explosives," Carl says curiously. "Yes, that's why I survived. Our group was attacked during the night before the war. I don't know how many were able to run," your eyes don't leave his. He was the first person you've ever told. "You're not scared of me?" "No, why should I be?" he replied. His answer made you happy. He is irresistible. You close your eyes to get rid of the thought. Once you were sure it was gone, you opened your eyes again. "How about your parents?" "They're the ones..." you pause for a moment before continuing. "They're the ones who sent us. They're the ones who put us in that position" "Why?" he responds. His eyes. They became an intense blue shade. Just like the sea. It reminds you of the one time you were able to go to the beach. The last day. The last day your parents ever lived. "Didn't they love you?" "Yes, they did," you start laughing silently. "But not all families are wealthy, ya'know. Sadly, we didn't have the money. Our country was in a large debt. They were going to war. For some reason, they thought that was the only option. They desperately needed people. They would pay thousands to their families. Anyone and everyone joined. Even girls. So they took us." "Oh," he says. He was speechless. You could tell. "It doesn't stop there," you respond. "Even though I wish it did." "Go on," he encourages you to continue. "I killed them," you say and sigh. "I killed my own parents. They couldn't live a life like that. They took the blame and it affected their lives. Knowing that their children will die because of them. Turns out, I didn't die." "Do you miss them?" he asks. He was interested. Interested in learning. "Your parents?" "Of course," you smile. "They were the sweetest people I knew despite the amount of pain and burden they held on their own shoulders. After I killed them, I gained a nickname." "What was it?" he says. "War Child," you reply and grin stupidly as you remember all the memories you had attached to that name. "War Child," the soothing sound of his whisper rings your ears. It has been a while since the last time someone called you that. "I like the sound of that." "I do too," you respond, not realizing what you just said. "How about the decoys?" he asks. "Oh, they were just some things we saved from the camp," you say. "They were made so that if people were to ever raid the camp, they'd pick up the wrong explosives." "Do you know how to make them?" he questions. "Duh, who do you think made it for the camp? All the girls and women were used to make them. It was dangerous work and they couldn't risk men. Apparently, they were more valuable," you say softly as you remember the amount of girls that died right in front of your eyes. "Could you teach me someday?" he asks and you look outside the window. "Why?" The moonlight reflects off his hair. You couldn't stop. You need him. You can't risk him dying too. "Hmm?" "It's good to learn. I've always wanted to," he looks directly at you, sending the butterflies yet once again in to your stomach. He smiles and your heart goes over drive. "Alright," you reply, smiling. It was a real smile. For the first time in a couple years, you actually smiled. It felt good. Everything he does. It all has a strong effect on you. "I will." "Promise?" he asks. "Promise," you tell him. "Goodnight War Child," he whispers. "Night."
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