by Jay Franklin
I open my eyes to a bright light, to a man in a mask and a green outfit, his white hands stick to my skin as I take my first breath, welcomed into the world for a lifetime. My mother cries as I’m taken to my first day of school; I was too excited to take notice of her tears. What I see next is the desert as I killed my first man; I had to since it was him or me, and that was what my training was for. My last memory was dressed in white, our happiest day - all around wept tears of joy as we walked through a shower of rice to begin our lives anew. Those tears were in sorrow after her plane fell from the sky, hymns were sung as her box lowered into the ground. This is what flashed before my eyes as the headlights of the oncoming car blinded my sight before impact.
Jay Franklin is a novice writer with no formal background in anything. He lives with his wife in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, and hopes this six didn't completely suck.