I remember the warmth of my childhood, the sun radiating my body. What was I, eleven? Eight? Was I sitting down on this bench, on that day? I was, wasn't I. Smiling and singing together at recess. Holding each other like newfound family. And for as young as we were, it was pretty mature but also natural. I remember their faces and their names. I love them still.
None of us were held back at any point, we all moved up grades and eventually graduated at the same time, so the tests we answered were all correct, and consequently we learned the same way. We did everything together as proper students etiquette and as human beings. Teachers everywhere were enthusiastic to have us as pupils.
We started a war. A war within a war. Conflicts in the east of our planet led us to think enlisting the army was the greatest accomplishment. Maybe we were right. Maybe we were insane. I don't even understand the exact layout of the beginning of this mess myself.
My name is Ismael, I am a sniper.
At seventeen I was too interested in weapons, fire weapons especially, to neglect the passion. Obsessed with names and tactical reloading. I wanted to be able to shoot an enemy of the state at a few hundred miles of distance and call it a day. "Target sighted. I got a clear shot. Copy that. Target down." I was foaming at the mouth at the idea of being one of those agents we see in movies. But the reality sets in, and I realize I was closing my eyes the whole time, daydreaming, so I opened them and looked at the terror that occurs when a random citizen is being taken down in the middle of a busy street. The shouting, the scattering of the crowd. The confusion and fear.
At twenty-two I married one of my childhood friends from the bench. Gloria. My sweet Gloria, with her long black hair and her puffy cheeks, deep eyes filled with galaxies. Always thinking, inside of her brain, not of intense philosophy but of a myriad of possibilities. She questions herself. Constantly.
I love her so much, I trust her, I need her. She's smarter than me and more thoughtful, she can anticipate more than ten seconds in the future, while I appear to be short-sighted. She's a diplomat, mind you, not that much of a fighter but more of a talker. Speeches build strength. Clarity. Understanding. The very stone and foundation for the positive and necessary values of a proper dignified society.
The hatred started when we went to war together. We all survived but it changed us. We cannot live as we used to anymore. The sun isn't so warm anymore, it's burning hot. The smiles have faded into eternal focus and excruciating resilience. We don't sing anymore, we remain silent. We are ready. In our own respective fields, to feel something again. To win.
Our other friends are less legal. They are weapon traffickers, thus responsible for the unstable relations between nations. Today I enter my final mission. The killing of my best friends.