"Yes, sir."

Those were the magic words. It kept us alive. It got Monzu the milk he needed, and placed my family in a favorable position. Just because we were fleeing didn't mean that we were powerless.

There were men equipped with guns, swords, and their ingenious guerrilla tactics, all of them working under the general. I, too, grew into this position.

Even as a kid, I was taught to fight, to shoot, to kill, and to survive. I became the perfect soldier in a losing war.

On our way to the refugee camps, we encountered many enemy squads. For us, it was kill or be killed. With my small body, desperation to live, and child's curiosity, I developed a knack for war. And to make sure my siblings had the highest chance of survival, I honed this skill to perfection. I fought harder, shot deadlier, and killed more. The long weeks in the jungle turned into months and years.

Soon, Monzu had already learned to walk, Kasia had to tend to the wounded and gather supplies, and Sengcha was taught to track by the scouts, whom bore the burden of navigating our path forward.

Each day, we would only have a few hours together at most. As little as it was, it was everything. It was a gift, a time to relax, a place of comfort.

Often, we would share how our days went, or just sit in each other's company.

Then, I'd make sure they got some rest to prepare for the next day's long walk.

Rarely were we every fully rested, however. Enemy solders, jungle predators, storms, shortage of food, no water. Everything was a good enough reason to start moving again. And so we went, despite our aching feet and our dry throats.

We had no choice. Every delay, every mistake, every wrong turn led to more casualties. Our group became smaller and smaller, many of which were our fighters.

Each encounter resulted in dead bodies, severe injuries, and infection. Statistically, there was no chance for us, yet we fought on and made sure to take advantage of every victory so that our losses didn't seem in vain.

At some point, after all the suffering as well as losing more than eighty percent of our group, we got good. Good at killing, anticipating, fooling our pursuers. Good at moving quietly, blending in, squeezing between enemy forces. Good at pushing forward, rational thinking, and leaving everything else behind.

I think a big part of that was because we were always on the edge of life and death. Every thing we did was only the bare necessity to survive.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

We had no left over energy nor time to doubt, to hesitate, or to give up. Until everything changed in a single night.

That night was both a blessing and a curse. Just as we were about to cross the border, our trail was picked up. In no time, our pursuers caught up.

They were skilled soldiers tasked to patrol the borders for people like us. They were the ones we had only heard of, who would take in refugees and hide them from persecution deep in the jungle that was a natural boundary between the two nations.

Unfortunately, their intentions were quite different from what we assumed. We were absorbed into fighting a war we were trying to flee from, forced to fight once more.

Instead of keeping us safe in their country, we were "hired" to continue our assault in a more direct and aggressive manner under threat of losing our loved ones that stayed behind, mostly women and children under 10.

I was separated from my siblings for the first time in my life, not knowing if they were in good health or if they were being treated well.

The anger I had for our "allies" were directed towards the enemy which was exactly what they wanted. Using their greater resources along with our acquired skills, we slowly became a force to be reckoned with. The general maintained his position and led our group in supply raids. Due to our success, we were elevated in status and became a secret task force, known as Runners.

Our mission was to dive into the heart of enemy lines and target strategic weakpoints. We studied the jungle and made it our craft. If at first we were just walking, now, we ran. Our 'deep strike' missions saw more successes than ever.

We even began saving other refugees and recruiting the men for our cause. While most of them were thrown into the front lines, we trained the most skilfull and trustworthy to be Runners.

Our resistance grew with each year that passed. The number of casualties for both sides reaching an alarming number in the tens of thousands.

During one of our infiltration missions, I was forced to take an incredibly risky position.

There, I was forced to take a life with my two hands.

Back then, my kills were necessary and I didn't question my actions, but at some point I began to feel a sense of dread.

When I took a good look at the corpse laying before me, I saw a boy around my age. Then, when I saw his badge, I crumpled. I recognized it. It was a symbol for bravery, representing the Tao clan.

The Tsang and Tao clans were extremely close. I still remember playing with kids from the Tao back before the war.

I came to a realization: our people were pitted against each other. That we were killing each other.

Knowing this, I was met with a speck of hesitation and doubt for our cause. I tried to think of the faces of the ones I killed, but they had none. And when I looked at my own reflection, I saw something that was not me, couldn't have been me.

After abandoning my mission, I ran off to the jungle in anger and denial. I just ran and ran until I couldn't anymore. Along the way, I hunted for food and hid in the trees. One night, I was bitten by a venomous snake that struck me when I was listlessly in my own thoughts.

When I regained consciousness, there was an old woman who was tending to me. I couldn't see her face at all.

As she nursed me back to health, she would sing a calm but sad tune and talk to me about life. Without thinking, I started telling her about my troubles and she helped me realize my error.

I had since stopped fighting to protect, and instead I became the thing that I was protecting my family from. The corruption of death eroded my senses and blinded me from seeing clearly, as if there was coagulated blood covering my eyes.

Each day, she would counsel me. Slowly, I was able to get up and walk around. I helped the old lady by gathering wood, hunting for food, and cleaning her home. When I fully recovered and was ready to return, she turned to me and smiled, telling me to always think back to my mother's words. I thanked her, and turned away.

I took a few paces but felt a strange feeling in thr pit of my stomach. When I turned back, the old lady along with her small home was gone.

The only sign that she existed was the tiny scar from the snake bite that was properly stitched and healed, which left barely a mark.

After I returned to camp, the faces of people began coming back slowly.

I was still angry and unsure what to do, but thought about my mother's words. Although, I was forced to fight and be a soldier, I get to choose why I fight and who I fight for.

Family. My father, who died a nameless soldier and my mother who wished I became more. My siblings, who I forgot to look out for, thinking that ceaseless killing would protect them.

I snuck back to camp and it was therr that I saw Monzu. He had grown in size, his eyes twinkling like mom's.

I cried. For the first time since leaving my mother, I cried. Things became clearer. The haze of death dissipated and everything changed.