Dave The Writer

Motomoto never quite knew when he had grown so mean. Killing for him had become seamless, petty, a walk in the park… Before, he had felt bile rise in his gut when he took a life; when it was a senseless one, when innocent blood was spilled, his heart grieved and he felt sick to his stomach. Now, he didn’t think twice. Orders were no longer to shoot to scare but to kill. He adjusted his gun strap to the back and helped carry the lifeless body of a woman off the main highway in Kansana. ‘Damn, she was heavy,” he cursed under his breath. The bullet had caught her square in her extended belly, both unborn child and mother would not see another day. He smiled at his marksmanship. Still, he wondered about his callousness…maybe it was the growing resentment with his job; was it the delayed payments of a meagre salary that had made him cold or was it that he had never gotten any promotion in his 23 years of service yet other recruits he had joined with had been quickly elevated. Could it be be...