[ CW ] create a character I feel strongly for ( love/hate/sympathize ) using a monologue from their perspective .

I am old. And I'm tired to the bone. So tired I could count my bones. Heh, lost so much hair that even my white beard is falling out. 
 
 That man though. He had a wife. They both had eyes, fantastic eyes. Not dull, so vibrant, so alive. I could watch them and I would want to smile. 
 
 I travel around battle fields. War zones. Places where God does n't seem to want to look anymore. I do n't own a gun, I do n't travel to fight. Truth be told, I am scared of guns. It's alright for some, but me? No thank you. Death is final and dark and, I wo n't pretend that it does n't scare me. But I chase after it. I find it in the worst places in the world. And I make sure to let the world know. 
 
 But that woman, and that man. They offered me tea, you see? And I'm old. I had some tea and we talked. And they were going to have a kid. Wanted to name him after the woman's father. They laughed and smiled. Everything was going so well for them, married last month and hopeful for the future. This would be her birthday gift: He said that he would take her to her birth home, their children would grow up there as well. All the barracks would be dismantled. All the soldiers would leave. She kissed my cheek on my way out. He shook my hand. `` Thank you for telling the world our story.'' 
 
 I travel around battle fields. War zones. 
 
 I told his story. I did my best, I really did. I wanted to send flowers to his wife after he died, but I was ashamed of what I had done. I was ashamed of how it had turned out, even though it was n't my fault. You see, I told their story and the wrong eyes read it, the wrong lips told it and the wrong sentences were highlighted `` **On air, live, primtime, on the leading news channel. Next story: Terrorism. World gone to war. Break down of peace. **'' More soldiers would arrive. 
 
 I do n't own a gun. But this is not my gun. It's alright for some, but not for me. I chase after death. But her eyes. They are my shame, my guilt... I chase after death. This is the first time I chase my own.
