One more step.

He takes another breath.

One more step.

His lungs are collapsing in on themselves.

One more step.

It’s been seven days. No water. No food.

One more step.

The heat is extreme. It feels like a thousand suns are setting him on fire.

One more step.

His stomach has already started to destroy itself.

One more step.

He tries not to think. He tries not to remember but the memories come back like a hurricane one after the other, never-ending.

He remembers how when the soldiers came he was not ready. He remembers how they came in and killed his father without taking a second look. Their eyes were glassy. No emotion, no love, no anger, no sadness. They were just eyes. He remembers his mother.

He remembers her last words to him, “I will always love you. Now run.” He hasn’t stopped running since then. He remembers sprinting out of the house and hearing his mother's screams. He knew what they were doing to her. There was no time to stop. There was no time to help- not if he wanted to live. He could hear her shrieks. They were so loud they still ring in his ears today. Then the sound of a gunshot and sudden silence.

No time to grieve. No time to cry. No time to break down. Just time to run.

One more step.

He can’t get caught. He just can’t. If the rebels find him, they’ll turn him into a monster like the children who destroyed his village. If the government finds him, he’ll be put on the front lines to die. Every village he passes rejects him and attacks out of fear. Fear that perhaps he is another rebel-soldier and that he will kill. There is no escape. There is no safety. There is only running.

It’s been two years since they found him. They took out his soul. Crushed it. Molded it to their liking. Silenced any trace of humanity within him. The drugs are his air. The guns are extensions of his arms. He is only fifteen years old.

War has become his life. Killing has become his sport.

Somehow, every life he takes is avenging his family's death. He’s been brainwashed to believe that the only way to enact justice is to kill.

He has to raid another village.

He walked into the hut and grabbed the man by the hair and slit his throat without a second thought. His hands are dripping with blood as he turns to look at his wife. She looks into his eyes. His eyes are glassy. No emotion, no love, no anger, no sadness. They were just eyes. He puts a bullet in her skull.

They have to raid one more town and then he and his crew can get a soccer ball. His commander promised.

He walks away with the other children, zombies rather. They kill without knowing it is wrong. They torture without feeling a drop of sadness in their heart. The drugs took every ounce of consciousness, every drop of empathy. The village behind them is entirely inflamed.

One more step.

His commander yells that government forces are coming.

His steps turn into a run.

He never stopped running.

Dear reader,

Do not just read this story and do nothing. Share this article, talk to your friends, raise awareness in your communities, organize an event, or donate money. Do something. Just because children aren’t being forced into manhood and forced into murder right in front of you does not mean it is not happening. It may seem abstract to you. I understand it is not your reality but it is someone’s reality. It is our duty, as people of the human race, to care for each other. Regardless, of race, religion, ethnicity, social status, or economic status. If this world is to improve and become peaceful, ordinary people must speak up, raise awareness, organize, and donate money. Change begins with you.

Organizations to donate to:

https://www.child-soldiers.org/

https://invisiblechildren.com/

http://www.warchild.org/