Where do I place this face in my nightmares

I was in a house today having a meeting with a known AQI leader. Things are normal, I’m trying to squeeze some information out of him by pretending I’m his friend and I have his best interest at heart. I’m actually considering pulling my pistol and shooting him in the face because he disgusts me. I know how many Americans this man has killed and that he’s an IED supplier so I’m thinking long and hard about his demise. I don’t feel bad that I feel this way. It has become the norm.

It’s a small dank room and the three sweaty fat men are all smoking and haven’t showered in weeks I’m guessing by the pungent odor. I keep getting security updates from my squad leaders over my earpiece and they are securing the safe house and giving me constant updates about what’s happening outside in the market. This is all normal so I go back to thinking about killing my new friend.

The squelch breaks in my earpiece and one of the squad leaders says there is a van racing up and down the street. I decided to end my meeting and head out to get a better look at things. As I moved out into the market the van came down the street moving at about 50 mph. This strikes me as odd since the average speed is about ten MPH in the market. He came around the traffic circle, never indicating slowing or braking at all. He straightened out his vehicle, his headlights highlighted her hair, dark brown and flowing in the breeze. I reached out from a distance that I couldn’t possibly reach her from. I was probably two hundred feet away but I stretched until it felt as though my muscles and tendons would snap. The sound of the flat front van smashing into her small seven year old body is still killing me as I write this.

She flew into the air and cleared the two hundred feet to me easy with a scraping slide to my feet. My hand was still stretched out above her and I was frozen. I didn’t try to help. Her head was split wide open and I could see the parts she used to think about her trip to the market. The things she would see and the people she would meet. I saw them like I’d seen these parts over and over in the last few years. Only this time they were so small, like you could cup them in your hands. Blood pooled around my feet. I picked up her limp body and tried to look for a place to go. Times like this made you wish you could call 911. The problem is that it is me at the other end of the emergency line. No ambulances, No EMT's. It was just me and a first aid kit. I bandaged her little head even though she was gone and washed her face with my canteen. I tried to wish her a pulse, but it wasn’t in God’s plan today. So I just stood there for a minute as the locals passed and stared.

I’m lost as to what I do with this one. Where do I file this dead face in my brain? I know where all the others go, but this one can’t come to me in the same dreams as them. They are in my head and visit me at night for a different reason. So where do I put her in that twisted pile of lifeless cold faces. What do I name her?

Her grandfather took her from my arms and left. He didn’t make a sound. He didn’t really pay any attention to me. His face was stern and very matter of fact. He gave her to the Iraqi Police and they detained the driver. And I continued on patrol. She followed me for a while I think. She walked the streets and held my hand like all the little girls in the neighborhood do. I hope it didn’t hurt to bad or too long. I hope God took her before that awful sound.