Through the Iron and the Trees

I wonder if he has family back home.

That's a stupid question, of course he does. Seventeen, eighteen at best. I don't know how the drafting worked with them. Maybe it was like ours. Maybe he lied about his age. Maybe he was forced in.

I wonder about his favorite food, his favorite drink. Maybe he's got himself a girlfriend, or hell, maybe a wife. Maybe he's got a kid. Maybe he's trying to make some money to put her through school.

Or maybe he's alone. Maybe he's just looking for something bigger than himself. Maybe he is here to prove something. To another man? To a general? To himself?

I don't know.

I wonder what his favorite color is.

He looks my way, his cold, young face.

I pull the trigger, instinctively.

I wonder who will tell his mother.