“Bang, Bang, Boom, Boom,” I fall to the ground. I scream in vain as I bleed out onto the floor, watching the big, bad soldier discharge rounds in galore. My only crime? Being brown. I don’t carry a gun, even though you can’t see that due to the strong Afghani sun. I only a young boy, playing soccer on the street, looking at the big, bad soldiers walking their beat. They come into my home, take my mom’s phone, take my dad away- leaving me all alone. I know their not bad people, their just misguided and lost, quite similar me. They don’t know my name, or that I love tacos and brownies, all they know is that I’m brown, and that makes them frown. I’m playing soccer on the street, looking at the big, bad soldiers walking their beat. A bomb explodes in the distance, causing the soldiers to scramble and and ramble. I move my hand to my back pocket, hoping to find my lucky locket. As I look up at the sun, I see the big, bad soldier shooting his gun.  I lay there lifeless on the floor, the big, bad soldier showing a lack of remorse. I am not sad, nor am I mad, for I am one amongst many whose blood has been the price oil, soil, and whatever else the big, bad soldiers lust for from deep within.