Alexei

5: July 7, 1914

We arrived at Catherine's Palace in Tsarskoe Selo on the evening of July 1st. There were seven of us: me, my father, and some young boys from throughout Russia. Darkness swelled in the sky. The corn-tinted moon lit the sky like a lantern. As we made our way to our rooms, I felt a fright inside of me, an insecurity. I don't know where it came from, but it swelled deep in my chest.
  I couldn't sleep that night. I had a fear of death, a fear which I always had, but always ignored.
  When the sun rose at the break of dawn the next morning, the sky streaked in orange strokes, the Boy Scouts headed towards the wood outside the city. We walked through the forest, the sun peeking through the treetops and beating down on our sweaty bodies. We cut down three trees, learned how to use a shotgun for hunting. I watched as the boys took turns trying to shoot a bird in the air. Then came my turn. I was shivered in fright. The weapon was placed in my fragile hands. Don't mess up. Don't shoot the bird. It's innocent.
  But I had got to do it. It was what the people surrounding me expected of me. They wanted me to be a man, not some feminine scaredy-cat. As I took the rifle, my hands shaking like an earthquake, I told myself not to appear looking like a coward. I placed my finger on the trigger and aimed it at the sky.
  "Shoot," Father urged. "Shoot like the whole world is in your hands."
  But the thing was, I didn't want the whole world in my hand. I couldn't handle that much power.
  But I had to please my father. He wanted me to be masculine and tough just like him. I couldn't disappoint him.
  So as a bald eagle soared through air, I pulled the trigger and the bird tumbled to the ground. It landed 10 feet in front of me, covered in a mass of fuchsia-stained blood. It reminded me of my illness, that one day, that bald eagle would be me.
  The boys cheered and Father slapped me on the back.
  "That, my son," Father said. "Is the first step to becoming a man."
  But I didn't feel like a man.