A gun to his temple. This is his final act. “What is after?” he would say to a priest on a regular basis “After what?” “Life” “Heaven or Hell” He never believed in an afterlife. He didn’t believe in anything there is no proof in. he didn’t even know why he was in a church on a regular basis. Maybe because he enjoyed the fact the priest HAD to talk to him. Or maybe because he felt he was the only man who knew he could outsmart a so called ‘man of god’. He knows there is one bullet so he needs to aim right, so he doesn’t just give his self a head ache. The right spot. He was a warrior, then a Knight, then a soldier. He can look back on all his time, what has he done with it? Watched many perish while he stands to blow the dust of the relics he once called tools, but with all his years’ one thing never changed. England. He is not convinced it will work. The one spot to stop it all. Can the spot exist? From a lord to a peasant all the way back to a man of standing, but where he is now but in an empty shell of a life he knew would last but a second. He told himself not to dream and he knew he would see what death truly was. He can remember all the faces, he is thinking of them now as he touches the trigger. He never thought of them as people who could die, he only saw what he wanted and that was tool. He was the only one who mattered as he would not perish. But after seeing what they should feel upon leaving there family, he can see every face. And through those faces the sisters without a brother, the mothers without a son, a wife with no husband, a child with no father and a friend with no one else. He has no one else. He knows he is as expendable as the rest. He knows he is a cog. He touches the trigger but the radio stops playing music, a new war with Germany and more faces to remember.