Markus stayed where he was, frozen. His legs and arms felt like heavy weights, weighing him down to his couch. The sounds of men’s whispers tortured his ears as his pure and innocent life fell apart in front of him.
The soldiers began slamming drawers and kitchen cupboards as they took every last scrap of food and cans of soup and carelessly tossed them into their bags.
“P-p-please. I’ve never-I’d never hurt anyone! EVER!” he cried out, his face streaming with tears.
The soldiers paid no attention to him, instead just rummaging through more and more cupboards before a cracking sound rang out.
The soldiers all stopped in unison, slowly turning their heads to gaze at a hole in the top of the cupboard. There sat a hand gun, loaded but on safety.
The tallest soldier slowly reached up, grabbing the gun and investigating it carefully.
“If you would never hurt anyone,” said the soldier, slowly turning his head towards Markus. His beaming eyes pierced his soul. “Then why do you have this?” he questioned.
That was the last thing Markus ever heard. Twelve words. Twelve words as he was brought away from the hell of the government collapse and the society revolt. Twelve words as the weapon he thought would protect him from harm, harmed him. The hard metal bullet entered his head as he slammed face down into the floorboards.