One man and his conscience

  "Why? Why couldn't I do it?" Edgar spoke aloud as he lay still, careful not to make a sound. He was alone now. Unprotected, alone and frightened.

  You're a coward came the reply

  "No I'm not!" Edgar screamed to the heavens before covering his own mouth.

  Why didn't you do it then? Why are you cowering ? 

  "I don't know... I just don't know." He curled into a trembling ball .

Stand up. Walk around the corner.  See what your cowardice has done and face your enemy.

  "I'll die."

  

  You don't deserve to live.

  "So I deserve to die?"

  Face your enemy. Let your actions decide for you.

  "You're right."

  Sergeant Edgar Morrison nervously found his feet and, after wiping away the sweat and tears from his face, readied his rifle and approached the nearby corner of a building.

Peering round the corner he noticed the enemy he fled, the enemy his men stood their ground against, smoking and laughing amongst themselves. Scattered around them were his men, no... his comrades. They were their own men not his to own, and they were his friends. They lived and died with respect... as soldiers. Edgar felt an overwhelming surge of pride.

Do it! The voice echoed.

Edgar charged at the men, constantly firing and constantly screaming. "AARGH! YOU BASTARDS!"

He killed many, but that was to be expected as their rifles were laid next to them,  giving them less opportunity to react as Edgar's blaze fell upon them. Twenty had turned to three before one of the trio reached his rifle and...

BANG!

Edgar ceased, as did time, as the man fell to the ground and lay still. Edgar had fallen.

The remaining three now stood silent, staring around at their friends, their comrades, dead on the ground having all fallen to the rage of one man and his conscience.