Thoughts of Remorse I have done something I believed to be beyond me. I killed another. As I watched his lifeless body slump to the ground, the significance of my actions overwhelmed me. I stopped everything as if my lack of movement could reverse time to what it once was. Escaping from the shock, I hesitate a moment before wandering to the body still with death. I hope as hard as I might that disclosing his identity might dismiss my remorse. But as I peered into his eyes- the eyes of a brother, the guilt came upon me tenfold. I stumbled back staring at my hands and registered the fact that they had followed through with an action so vile. Falling to the ground I sit on my knees letting sobs rack my body. Do I really know who I am anymore? Squeezing my eyes shut this stranger's end plays in my head. A soft buzz begins to fill my ears and my limbs slowly get heavy. The trauma has crept in, leaving an imprint that will never fade. Day after day, night after night; I relive these moments. It tortures me because I know I'm the one that brought upon this man's death. I stole away a life that deserved to be lived. I did that. And it haunts me every day. Coming home I felt as if I was in an unknown land. Simple acts of kindness were foreign to me. They tell me to forget what happened. That what I've suffered doesn't matter now that we've won. I'm trying so hard - so unbelievably hard - to crawl my way out of a place I've been cemented in for years; but I just can't. I see the difference in my mother's eyes when she looks at me: no longer a spark but a dull light. She's happy I'm alive but doesn't like at all how I've changed. Her eyes have become never-ending pools of grief. Seeing everything for what it once was and not for what it can be. The war has made its mark on her. It has deprived her of happiness and is slowly etching a seemingly permanent frown on her once beautiful face. Years have passed as I now sit here withered with age. I observe the bowed heads and faces tilted towards the sky. We are all one body united with the simple act of remembrance. They seated me close to the front among others who survived this war alongside me. They praise my actions, looking at me through a lens that makes my appalling deeds and the simple act of surviving to appear almost heroic. They remember ones lost and ones whose wounds still haven't healed. But as for me, I'll never forget the eyes of that man because those thoughts of remorse have followed my every step. www.nb.legion.ca 15 Senior Essay Amelia-Mae Walker, Grade 10 student at North & South Esk Regional High
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy MTM0NTk1OA==