I continue to crush it until it’s nothing but crinkled petals and a crushed stem painted in the blood pouring from my hand. I grit my teeth, just barely holding onto the sorrowful wail that threatens to leave my lips. This—this is the destruction from what I do. Some days, it’s hard to live with. Some days, I can barely stand from the weight of this cruel world resting on my shoulders. But I know if I don’t, my life would be worthless, and those kids would have died for nothing.