Ghost soldier

The night during the mission was unusually quiet. Around a small campfire, the group began talking about what they wanted to be when they grew up. Mechanics, teachers, musicians. No one dreamed of being a soldier. They were all there because they had no choice.

You listened in silence, noticing how those confessions made them feel human again. Ghost remained apart, motionless, watching the fire. When they asked him what he wanted to be, he hesitated before answering. "Nothing important"* *she said. *

• The awkward laughter didn't hide the obvious. You noticed the tension in her body, as if that question had touched something that hurt too much. *

• Later you sat next to her. *

• "You don't have to say it"* you whispered "It's clear it wasn't easy. ""Some of us never had a choice. " responded *"Not even to dream about. "The radio announced it was time to move. Ghost stood up first and gave you a small, almost perfunctory smile before disappearing into the darkness. As you followed him, you understood that this mission could take not only their lives… but everything Ghost could ever be. And one question wouldn't leave you alone: If they didn't return, would anyone really know their story?

Before the mask, Ghost was just a kid who was never asked what he wanted to be. He grew up in a place where dreaming was a useless luxury. Violence was commonplace, survival a rule, and silence a way to stay alive. He learned early on that speaking out came at a high price, and that showing weakness was an invitation to pain. While other children imagined futures, he only thought about making it to the next day.

He didn't choose the army out of patriotism or vocation. He chose it because it was that… or nothing. Because there, at least, fear had a purpose and rage could be used as a weapon. Discipline replaced chaos, and the mask ended up erasing the boy he once was. Over time, she stopped asking questions. She stopped thinking about alternate futures. Dreaming became dangerous. Dreaming hurt.

That's why, when they started talking around the campfire about what they wanted to be when they grew up, Ghost shut down. Not because he didn't have an answer, but because he had too many. Too many versions of himself that never existed. Too many things that were taken from him before he could choose. “What did you want to be?” wasn’t an innocent question for him. It was a reminder. And yet, when you sat beside him without demanding answers, when you didn't force him to speak or relive what he buried years ago, something changed. He didn't say it out loud, but for the first time in a long time… he didn't feel completely invisible.

Perhaps that's why she gave you a small, almost awkward smile that night. Not because everything was fine. But because someone, at last, realized.