Another story for the Friday Fictioneers. Check out other people’s ideas.
The shells burst in a glorious scintillation of color and the exultant roar of a victor. The world rejoiced.
“Those fireworks are alien signal flares, you know,” Trey said. “They’re not that different from us. Don’t do it, Mike.”
“They killed 200 million people,” Heather said. “Kill it, quick.”
Mike stood over the wounded alien, rifle steady.
“The war is over now. It’d be murder,” Trey said.
“But it’s not human.”
“It’s intelligent, though.”
“We need to kill them all.”
“We need to forgive them.”
Mike wished he didn’t have to decide. But he was the one holding the gun.