War. It was beautiful yet deadly. The mutilated were left 6 feet underground or as walking corpses; forever hiding a monstrous body of scars and nightmares. Then there was him: the man that instigated it all. A man who killed millions. A beautiful mind used for such evil: persecution. He thought he was right —wether or not insanity played a factor —none dared to argue. He was entirely cocksure that his ideas of cleansing the earth, of murdering millions of people — not just men but women and children too — were justifiable, reasonable even. His beliefs and followers — or cult, some would say — forced nude civilians into chambers of poisoned air. Millions of boys in striped pajamas were stripped and condemned to die with their halos of innocence shining bright overhead. Through all of this, the man was ignorant of the pain and suffering he caused. His refusal to walk in his victim’s shoes showed the indifference coursing through his veins. The man was the devil in disguise; a man with a thin, perfectly shaped mustache, who believed the world was better without certain societies in it. A ball of fierce, disturbed fire roiled in his gut. The deep sensation of disgust reverberated his every breath when he thought of the helpless victims. As if a coin was flipped, the cruel man’s perspective altered. A baby had been born. One that would undoubtedly have trouble communicating and would verge on the wild side of normal. She was an adorable 5.9 ounce baby girl — with autism. One of the many diseases that the conceited deceptionist aimed to abolish. But the man could not abolish this autistic child; for it was his own. His thoughts swirled and spun him into a dizzying haze. “My daughter?! One of them!” His mind would shout at him. Damning thought after damning thought attacked his mind. “I didn’t mean for her to come out like that. It’s not my fault.” He would think. But then his mind drifted to the millions of people he killed for carrying the “autistic gene.” Soon his gut roiled in guilt. Hungry and fast, craving for blood and a seize to his never ending sins. For days and nights he could not sleep nor eat. The baby cried in such weird ways. Almost like hiccups. He focused on her cries; an echo of the cries of his victims. The dark, black hair on top of his head began to lighten. His nails became bloodied and dry. The bags under his eyes were as dark as the dead. “That’s it. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. Not at all.” The chuckling of the crazed, sleep deprived man was sinister and low. “It’s time to leave now.” The man had been sitting in his office for days now. His gaze focused on only one thing: the large, block box wedged between an old bookshelf and the wall. The only things he kept inside the box were guns and cash, but he had no purpose for cash anymore. “I will end the suffering.” He muttered to himself. The man brought his baby into his arms and reached for his wife’s hand, pulling her into their bedroom. Legend has it that every year on April 30th —if one dares to seek it — three loud bangs can be heard around the world at exactly 3:27 pm.