I failed to do my job.
I failed to protect my friends.
I failed to fight for my country.
"Why do you need to do this?" I asked.
The man turned to look at my wounded and bloody face.
The man whom I thought was my friend. The man whom I thought could be trusted.
No. I mustn't dwell on the past. He's not the man he used to be.
"All you'll do is betray us. You'll start killing them once more!" He spat out.
I remember when his eyes were still bright, and his heart was still soft.
He was brave, courageous and selfless.
I don't know what he is now.
As he turned away from me, I looked at my worn-out and lifeless friends.
They didn't deserve it.
They didn't deserve to die like this.
All we wanted was to fight for our country. To fight for our freedom.
It's all we wanted.
All of us.
"They want to help us Andres-" He tried.
How could he be so blind? So blind to what they're actually doing?
"They don't want to help us, Emilio!" I screamed.
"They're all the same! All of them! The Spaniards, the Americans-"
Bang.
Another shot.
Another wound.
More blood splattered on the floor.
"I tried to persuade you, Bonifacio, but you would never listen to me. You always think fighting will lead to our freedom." He told me.
I was to weak to speak.
My vision was blurring, my head was spinning.
I was almost dead.
"People say you do it for the freedom." He started. "People say you do it for the country." He faced me once more.
"But I know the truth, Andres. I know you do it all for yourself."
I tried to answer back, but I couldn't.
"You do it all for the praise and honor."
"You do it so you'll die a noble and heroic death."
"And you're not getting that. Instead, you'll die in the hands of your fellow friend."
"In the hands of a fellow Filipino."
And those were the last things I heard before I was stabbed, cut and shot.
Before I died.
I died a death I never wanted.
