Decontor

I have my gun trained on him. 

But I hesitate. I look into his brown eyes. 

Why does it have to be this moment? 

Why am I the one holding the gun?

Why did he betray me? 

Why did he betray the cause? 

How did he come to this point?

Where he kneels in front of me. 

The gun jammed into my trembling hands. 

The words. “Shoot him.” 

Repeated over and over. 

In my head. 

Off their tongues. 

The noise grows, but no one else volunteers to rip the soul from his body.

Instead he just stares at me. 

Waiting.