[ he's not sure it's the conversation he wants to linger on, but he's burnt out from the fighting, still itching a bit to get out there again despite the growing ache in his limbs. the stench of blood is all over him, where even the cigarette he brings to his lips has the taste of iron on it. probably mixed with where he'd split his lip in a brawl earlier. ]
Had my first kill when I was twelve.
[ my father, he doesn't say. it's not a small thing to confess, but it's not like his being a killer holds much of a secret with the state he presents. it's all more complicated than that, but he's not looking for excuses to explain himself. ]
Became something of a soldier the next day. Haven't stopped since.
no subject
Had my first kill when I was twelve.
[ my father, he doesn't say. it's not a small thing to confess, but it's not like his being a killer holds much of a secret with the state he presents. it's all more complicated than that, but he's not looking for excuses to explain himself. ]
Became something of a soldier the next day. Haven't stopped since.