For me, it was not a matter of live or die. I was in no real peril. Almost certainly the young man would have passed me by. And it will always be that way. Later, I remember, Kiowa tried to tell me that the man would’ve died anyway. He told me that it was a good kill, that I was a soldier and this was a war, that I should shape up and stop staring and ask myself what the dead man would’ve done if things were reversed. None of it mattered. The words seemed far too complicated. All I could do was gape at the fact of the young man’s body. Even now I haven’t finished sorting it out. Sometimes I
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