Personal Narrative: Slim Dead

I thought back to that faithful day. That face that still haunts me today. All those innocent people who died so that we may stay alive. He was nothing but a scholar, maybe. Years taken away from his life. He laid face-up in the center of the trail, a slim dead, almost dainty young man. His chest was sunken and poorly muscled. His one eye was shut, that I would’ve thought he was at rest if it wasn’t for the star-shaped hole in his other eye. His jaw was in his throat, his upper lip and teeth were gone. The skin at his left cheek was peeled back in three ragged strips. His neck was open to the world. The world that killed him. His rubber sandals had been blown off. One lay beside him, the other a few meters away. He lies there to forever be
forgotten, just seen as a simple casualty. His innocence will forever remained branded in my brain. Forced in a world of hate. His forehead was likely freckled, his fingernails were clean. A butterfly on his chin which made me think of his freedom. That now he may fly away from this horrible place. His right cheek was smooth and hairless. His wrists of a child because that what he was….only a child forced to grow up and become a man in seconds.