[ WP ] Dark blue eyes peered behind tiny , white knuckled hands . `` Give it back . '' Said the boy , his gun quivering .

The look in his eyes shocked me. I never knew such a young kid could have such rage, such fear, such trepidation burning into his retinas like that. I feared for myself for a moment. But more importantly, I feared for him. 
 
 He did n't know any better. He did n't know what he was going to do. He did n't know. I do n't think anyone in the world can blame him for what he did. I could n't even blame him. Even if I wanted to, I would n't. I was in a place like his once. 
 
 The scene was pretty brutal. I ca n't even begin to describe the horror on my face, and on his mother's face. She looked so scared huddled up in the corner. I could see her black eye, I could see her busted lip. I could feel the sense of relief and pain circulating through the veins. I could see those feelings gushing out of her lip as she slowly regulated her breathing. 
 
 Most importantly though, I could see him. I could see what he had done. I could see what he had wanted to do. I could feel the regret, the remorse, the anger, the misery seeping out of the hole in his head. I see the moment when it happened and how the man only felt confusion before his lungs took in air one last time. 
 
 As I stood there before this crime scene, this little 7 year old boy, who had just watched his mother being beaten by his father, who had snot running down the sides of his lips and tears soaking the collar of his shirt, his dark blue eyes peered behind his tiny, white knuckled hands, and he said the only thing I could n't imagine a kid like that saying about someone he put a bullet in. 
 
 `` Give it back,'' said the boy, with the gun quivering, `` give me back my daddy.''
