My teacher used to say that if you always worry about the worst-case scenario, it will come to pass. I feared becoming like my father, a soldier fighting a war meant for the dead. I was obsessed with avoiding that ledge, but it was no Use. The ground opened up beneath my feet and swallowed me whole.

People celebrate the only soldier to come home from war. They don’t mourn for those killed because they were pawns. Breathing weapons handed a Gun as mere children. I sit at the sidelines, waiting for blood to spill. Mothers guide children away from me, and older men can't meet my eyes. So I sit with the knowledge that the worst has come and gone. I am the enemy, the man they hang at the Center Square. Like my father, my child or someone else will come along and destroy this rusted sword.