Bloody Hands

My eyes shut, not understanding.

"You can't keep doing this," I told him.

"I can, and I will."

His eyes met mine, and I stared at him, thinking of the 13 year old. Not the evil adult. How could someone have this much hatred towards a country? How could someone take out so much on people who are innocent?

"Think. Those kids who were making fun of you were the only ones who did something to you. You shouldn't take it all out on America."

"Sasha, you're missing the point," he said.

"Maybe I am--because I have no idea how this is logical." I said.

"The reason I'm destroying these people is because they're all like that. All of them as a child would have made fun of me. Do you think I DESERVED that?!" his eyes looked a bit wild as he stared at me.

You see, before this dude--I couldn't exactly explain a psycho. I always put them at a lower level then him. But now I see what a real psycho is.

"It doesn't matter!" I told him. "Not all of them would do that to you! And after you killed them off, new people would develop. Things would just happen again. And you know in other places in the world these things happen? We're not the only ones."

He got up slowly. "Come with me. Now."

I got up slower than he did, afraid of the outcome. "Where are we going?" I said. I didn't refuse to go with him. I knew he had a gun on him and I'm not that stupid.

"I know there's a camp around here. It might be a while, but I know there is one."

"We can't do this! I'm scraped and covered in blood! I can't walk very far!"

He grabbed my shirt and looked me in the eyes. "Too damn bad!"

I fell silent.

And painfully I walked.

But there came a moment where my mind was going fuzzy and my mobile skills began to drop.

My eyes closed and I went down to the ground.