With the age of 22, I was one of the youngest Green Berets. However, what gave me lots of initial attention wasn't just that. The first female of the special forces. I was able to train, beat, and survive the regiment course that I was provided. It wasn't simple. Each person had to prove that they had the strength, knowledge, and the ability to adjust. However, I knew I was strong. I've always known that since I was young. People and objects always came at me slower, fighting pumped my adrenaline, and my reaction times were always the best in every sport.
By the age of 27, I was able to lead my own company through missions and complete them. Training the rebels to fight against their government, recon, and even assassination.
It was another…show more content… The car is about to come closer and I look up to see a girl from an alley yelling at the boy, "BROTHER, HURRY BROTHER THE CAR!" I look towards the car that is coming in fast. I looked at the boy that is staring at the car and the almost crying sister.
I darted and rushed towards the boy and push him into safety. The boy's eyes still have despair while the younger girl has tears running down her cheeks.
I feel pain from my sides. I watch as the boy looks at me in horror and starts running towards his sister. They both look back at me with sorrowful eyes and darts off deeper into the alley. Why did they look at me with sorrow?
I then looked down and see that my leg are churned up and my rib is poking out. I can't breathe. It hurts. It hurts. This was suppose to be an easy mission I look up and the people in the vehicle have gotten out. I call out to them asking them to help me. One of them speaks in Arabic.
"She just spoke english, SHE'S AMERICAN."
They all clamber over trying to capture me and one of them slams the back of my head with the butt of their gun. I die from excessive blood loss and the strike finishes me.
