She clutched her gun close to her chest,
A child of only nine;
Trembling with fear and anticipation,
Contemplating its lovely shine.

The man before her begged for mercy,
Her victim to do as she pleased;
She gazed into his despairing eyes
And felt her heart aggrieved.

Her mind then posed a question,
One as innocent in nature as she.
It kindled a spirit of ethics:
"Why kill someone who pleas?"

Her father, anticipating her questioning gaze,
Smiled down with false affection.
"My child, it's but a small price to pay
To defeat this minor aggression."

Dreading the thought of murder, 
As anyone rightly should;
Yet longing to please her father,
She sacrificed her childhood.

Hesitant to fire the toy,
She weighed the cold metal in her hands.
At last she poised her stance 
And readied herself for the thundering command.

The order came with gentle coaxing,
As if to have mercy on her tender heart;
But never again would she show weakness--
And she fired without a start.