I can hear it now. The swishing of footsteps through the wet grass, footsteps that I'm not meant to hear. The sound of gunfire. I look out of the window; the midnight sky is illuminated every few seconds by a flash that I know signifies another death. This is my fault, and I know it.
If I didn't exist, then this war would not have happened.
The footsteps approach the old grey house with its large kitchen and six small bedrooms. It is old, and I can hear the rotting timbers creak as I walk across the floor. As silently as I can I slip out of my bedroom. It is the first place they will look, I am sure. I must get out, but I have no food, nowhere to go.
It is too late. A minute later someone ascends the stairs. I sit on the top step, a small bundle on my lap.
"Shall we go?" I ask, as if I have been waiting for this visitor. Fat chance: he is my enemy, or so I've been taught. Nevertheless I do my best to appear confident.
"YES," he says. They are all the same, these Krarls. Every one of them has the same stumpy green body. Every one of them the same voice, devoid of emotion. "YOU ARE TO COME WITH ME." The Krarl is pleased. He will be promoted for this, I expected, for there is a high price on my head.
"Where are we going?" I ask. It is only now that I realise what is different about this Krarl. He doesn't have a uniform like the others. He isn't a soldier.
"THE DOCTOR." My people have a legend about some Doctor. He is super-intelligent, good looking ... shame he isn't real, honestly.
"Really," I say, trying to sound sceptic when my heart is in my throat. "A real answer would be more helpful."
The Krarl grunts. "YOU ARE NOT TO ARGUE," he says, and pulls more harshly at my arm. I wrench it out of his grip.
"I can walk," I tell him. And walk I do.