The sins of our Fathers

Looking down into their pathetic eyes only made my thirst for blood greater. Looking at them, chained by the neck like wild animals only fuelled my ambition for death. Three of them tied to a post as they had been for four days now. No water was given to them; no food was given to them. They survived on sheer will power and hope that they would be saved.
I am the son of Henry Blue, a “Tyrant” to this people but a Prophet to the true visionaries. We controlled this city. We controlled who lived. We controlled who died.
The sound of screaming voices came from all around, people behind wire fencing trying to climb over them only to have their hopes of saving them crushed by the razor wire at the top of them. I looked up to one of the watch towers, several Marksmen waited inside their watching over them. I nodded to them, giving them the signal to “calm” them down.
The second I lifted my head back up, the sound of sniper rounds rattled my ears and penetrated the hearts of those around me. All fell silent as several of the villagers around the fencing fell to the floor. Splashes of blood flashed through the fencing and into the cage. One of the prisoners got the worst of it and the blood covered his entire arm. If he had been stronger he may have made some sort of disagreement.
As the area around me fell silent, I turned around from the prisoners. Behind me stood a small boy, not much older then three stood chains by his hands and feet. I walked over to him and looked over to him.
“Hello boy.” I said to him. He made no effort to look up to me, his first mistake. I gripped the chain from around his neck and yanked it up, holding him in the air. He began to choke and cry as I pulled on his chains. Tears rolled from his eyes to his mouth.
I turned around and walked over to the prisoner on the left. The man looked up to see the small boy, crying in front of him. Not just any boy, his only son.
The man tried to get up but he had no energy to do so. I chuckled at his feeble attempts to show resistance. Tears continued to roll down his eyes; he wasn’t a little brave hearted boy you see in the movies, he was just crying his eyes out.
I pulled the boy closer to me. His filthy face covered in mud and dirty looked at me in fear and despair. As another tear rolled down his eye, I licked the sweet, salty juice from his cheek and savoured its taste.
“The tear of a child who is cursed to suffer because of the Sins of his Father.” I whispered, just loud enough for the prisoner to hear. The prison had somehow gathered the strength to look up to me. With a sudden jolt, he raged forward, trying to pull his arms from his chains and strangle me.
After chuckling at his feeble attempts, I walked behind the prisoner. Pulling out my Pistol I aligned it with his hand facing the direction of his son.
“No… please…” He cried out, but I ignored him. It just made the show more enjoyable.
I forced him to grip the pistol handle and after a short struggle, he man pulled the trigger and a bang rang my ears and his own. The boy fell to the floor. Dead.
“The sins of our Fathers..”