Another one for the child amidst the war!
by Elsa Thomas
I shot at him twice. After making sure that his fellow gunmen were killed, I walked towards him. His mutilated body told me that he was barely fourteen. The bullet had pierced through his ribs and stomach and both he and I knew that life in him was now a matter of a few minutes. I do not know why, but I stood there watching this boy cry of pain due to the physical ache and the mental agony. For us, he was a terrorist, a jihadist who we had to kill for the safety of the population that were sleeping peacefully with the undying belief that we were awake and alert for their sake, for their safety, for their peaceful existence.
The encounter went on for hours together and frankly I had lost track of time. The forest patch was such that it made…
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