It was one thing to be here and listen to all before me. Yet it was absolutely devastating to go out beneath the suns harsh rays and experienced that soul crushing truth of life as it came to a solider of war. At home they hold high expectations of my duties as any patriotic person should be. Though as for me when I look upon the mirror I see before me the man who put three bullets into the back of a forty year old man who had three kids and a loving wife. Only difference between us was that according to our government he was a terrorist, but according to his, he was a liberator fighting for human rights within his country. Sadly every time a reflection happens upon me now, I see not the image of the man I had grown up with but instead I see a forty year old brown withered man with a look of terror permanently etched into his face. I wonder constantly if the people out before me ever see this man to. Though when they all see me they always smiled and shook my hand as if the mirrored man had never existed. I did not know what bothered me more. The fact they could not see the poor man’s face in mine or the fact that I could always see his face when I attempted to look at mine. If they had told me so long ago that this man’s face would haunt me to my grave I would have never signed the devil’s paper with my blood inked pen. If life had granted me a second choice I would have gone back home to my loving wife and three kids. I would have been the world’s best father and a world class husband. I would have said my prayers on a daily bases and thanked the good ol’ lord for being alive and living a life with no regrets. Now I pray every night that this poor man’s soul would lay to rest and give me hope that not all things have to be this way.