Each week a photo is used, donated by one of the participants of Sunday Photo Fiction, and the idea is to write a story with the photo as a prompt in around 200 words.
He was a terrified little boy, no longer little. A man. No, a boy trying on a man’s shoes and finding himself sadly inadequate. Not that he was; what if his father had faced the cringing and the running and the constant fear of that single last moment when pain and peace became one?
He lived monk-like, taking orders from high-ranked Man-Gods, knowing only he shouldn’t be there. Shouldn’t be death itself, taking from those on the other side of the line. Weren’t they boy-men like himself? Terrified with their Man-Gods behind, lying them on? Wasn’t everybody terrified, Man-Gods behind lying them on?
He was. He knew he was. He knew when the last act opened. Curtains parted. Cheers for the moment when pain and peace became one.