Death has a way of doing away with all pretense. That is the truth. A truth I did not get the full implications of until it no longer mattered.

This story is mine, what I lived and witnessed, and I write these words with a heavy hand, burdened by reluctance to proceed, and a heavy heart fearing I might tarnish the memories of some.

Many of the events and happenings I recount were to never be learned of by unconcerned parties, but I must reveal everything now as it is the only way, the only proof that we existed.

To understand my motivation, you must embark with me one the story of my life.

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My name is Giovanni Vittore.

I was born as the first child to my parents who were part of a great family.

Our family, the Vittore earned its name for numerous accomplishments. However, very few know how much we really did to deserve that title and name.

I was told that I got my name, Giovanni, from my grandfather, not that it was his name, rather he gave me the name hoping that I would bring god’s favor to the Vittore.

Grandfather was a very religious person and for some reason my father who was much less religious, agreed to his wish of giving me the name.

Sometimes, I wonder which god heard his prayer and how they heard that prayer because that might just explain why I can never rest.

As I was saying we were a family of many accomplishments, all of which we earned from working for the Emperor. If you wonder why few would know of how much we really did, that is because we are a hidden hand, we did everything that was for the best interest of the Emperor first.

We are the faithful ones, faithful only to the Emperor.

The family profession involved a lot of things but among others, there was killing. As child of this family I had an education that I now know was very different from what others received.

One thing is that as the child of this family, the great Vittore family nonetheless, I was exposed to death a very young age.

It was when I turned five that I had to do my first killing.

No matter how much of any vocabulary I learn, I struggle to find the right words to describe the feelings of that moment, the feelings of the first time a I took a life.

Some might consider it odd since my first kill was just a chicken, but I had to hold it in place as I snapped its neck.

I still remember my small hands, my small legs, the shaking…

I did not get any tools for the task. Not a cutter, or even a stone, just my hands which were so small that they could barely circle the bird’s neck.

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I grasped at its neck in my hands as the soft feathers slid through my fingers and started squeezing hard.

The bird started shaking and I struggled to control it when I heard my fathers voice from beside me.

“Don’t let it go.” He said calmly.

I brought the neck closer to the ground, and as I held it with one hand, I used the other to first bring its wings together before placing my leg on them. I did the same with its legs and the bird finally had less movement.

But it did not die with just me squeezing its neck so I had to start twisting it continuously in one direction even as it kept struggling beneath me.

It was unfortunate for both of us that it did not die with one twist.

This was one of my most difficult moments in life. I was in a dilemma between doing what I thought was expected of me and doing what everything within myself told me to do. I wanted to stop this.

I remember how it fought harder with each twist, after some time, the spine broke inside its neck.

The struggles grew even harder from here and my hands trembled. Perhaps my father noticed my desire to let go, because I heard his voice once more. It seemed cold when he said. “Hold it in place.”

The bird’s struggles slowly reduced in frequency, then the occasional spasms and finally… nothing.

I also remember how I felt after the kill. All the complicated feelings of the moment just left me as I only felt relief, and yet I was not happy.

I just had this relief that it was finally over and that I had successfully done what was expected of me.

All the children of house Vittore had to go through this at the age of five without exception, and no matter what your decision was or how far you proceeded in the task, you could not come out unchanged.

As I stood up and started moving away from the dead animal, I felt a hand on my shoulder that brought a calming feeling to me and I heard my father’s voice. “It should never be easy to take a life, because all lives are important.”

I could not bring myself to ask him why then we had to kill the poor chicken.

The chicken I had killed was later prepared for me to eat and I could not ignore the fabulous smell that wafted towards me as the plates were brought to the table.

In this way, at a very young age, killing, to me was associated with excellent reward. Something I did not immediately realize.

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For the next few days, the compound far less lively than it used to be. It was so quiet that you could wonder if everything mourned for what we did.

Looking back, I think it was to distract us from what we did that for the next months, we had intense study on various topics.

The children were separated, remaining in their guardians’ homes and tutors cycled the houses daily imparting knowledge on various topics.

In a few months, I was introduced to arithmetic for counting as well as the lingua and glossa for speaking and writing.

The lingua was what almost everyone used in the compound and glossa was less common, it was like a language the old people used for secrets.

I found myself developing an interest in reading. I don’t remember if I was looking for something or if I just wanted to further distract myself.

I still wondered why if ‘…all lives are important’, did I have to kill the chicken.

Since I was already a quiet child, it was not apparent that I was struggling with something, and since no one asked I set to find the answer to my own question.

I turned myself to history. For someone who wanted to read, they just happened to be the books with the most words.

There was a lot about how the Imperial army conquering territory in the name of the Emperor. This often-meant wars and in these wars, people died in great numbers.

I came to know about responsibility and duty. That is how after almost half a year of my first kill, the five-year-old that I was concluded that, just like how the soldiers of the Emperor’s army had to kill his enemies because he asked them to, I, Giovanni of the Vittore, had to kill the chicken because it was what was required of me.

I was told to do it so it was a duty and I had a responsibility to fulfill that duty.

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After some time, the intensity of the lessons progressively reduced and by the time it had been one year since the kill, the children were already meeting again.