He stands by the edge of the roof, shoulders hunched and fists clenched. I want to go up to him, comfort him somehow, but I can’t. The sight is still playing in my head, over and over again. I want to say something, anything, that it wasn’t his fault, that he had no choice, that if it wasn’t for him we’d all be dead. But I can’t. The fighting, the killing, it was all a side of him I’d never seen before, a side I didn’t even think he could possibly possess. But he does, he is. I just wish I could forget. I want to so much! You did it to save us! You had no choice! It wasn’t your fault! But I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. So I stay where I am, replaying the scene in my head. And you stand there, alone, drowning in the guilt, tearing yourself apart.
I’m sorry.
Thank you.