Explosions plague his dreams each night. Bullets ricochet off of every surface. Blood seeps out of every pore.

One morning, he decided that enough was enough, he was getting out of there, even if it killed him.

He snuck out of his barracks and somehow made it safely out of camp.

He traveled down the dusty brown road, hiding after any little sound.

The sun was beating down on his sunburnt neck, urging him to turn back. But he put one foot in front of the other and kept going.

He had taken a break to eat when he spotted something behind a boulder. He pulled his gun out and crept closer to investigate.

It was a little doll, her hair and her dress burnt to a crisp, a little smile still painted on her face.

He couldn’t leave, not now. Not when there were so many children depending on him. These children were probably faring a lot worse than he was, especially the owner of this little doll.

He tied the doll into his bag and began to march back to camp, determined he would make a difference in the lives of the locals.