The folder laid on his desk. The haunting key to his future. He had ignored it for the last past 5 months - always knowing it was there, but paying it no mind. He had not known of this "God weapon" before April 12, 1945. A tool of destruction capable of ending a war in one swift motion, of taking thousands of lives in seconds, and of opening the gates of hell.

As he sat there, in his chair, he remembered how it all had happened so fast. Never had he expected to become the president. He had lost his dear friend and become the leader of a nation in the matter of hours. He became the commander of an army, the successor to a great man, and the fourth horseman.

A knock on the door startled the man. He flinched recalling the trauma of his childhood. Remembering the countless times in his past in which he felt weak, vulnerable, and a coward. The times in which his father looked upon him in disapproval shouting "Act like a man! What is wrong with you!?"

He thought back to when he was tormented by other boys,

the times in which the mere thought of speaking to that girl left him shaking and petrified,
the time where he was told he was not fit to serve his country, to his mother's joy and father's disgrace, as he was, in his eyes, less of man.

"Come in."

A small, skinny young man stepped in. The man looked deeply into the young man's eyes which were nearly hidden by those thick lenses. Eyes that had so clearly seen trying times, but feigned courage that was obviously not there.
The man saw himself in those eyes, he saw himself in that boy.
"Pardon me sir"
The words shattered the silence and brought the man back to the room.
"But Secretary Byrnes is on the phone"
"Oh...Thank you"
He stepped out as quickly as he had come in, leaving the man alone once more.
The man stared at the phone for what seemed ages. It might as well have been, as he felt he grew wiser with every passing second, gathering up what was needed to face what he knew was waiting for him on the other end of the line.
His hand, as if being controlled by an otherworldly force, moved towards the phone. In what he felt was the longest seconds of his life, he moved the phone towards his ear and spoke.
"Yes?"
"Mr. President, good evening. How are you?"
"Well, all things considering."
"Of course, these are difficult times, and difficult times bring about strong men who make very important decisions."
"Very true. Let us hope we are those men."
"We are Mr. President, we are. Now then, you must know why I am calling, yes?"
"Yes, of course"
"I take it you've made a decision on the use of the weapon?"
"..."

With two words the man would change the world. With two words he would murder thousands of innocent men, women and children for no reason, but vanity. With two words he would show the world his strength, he would show his father who he was, show all those boys of his past who he was; he would prove to all he was a man. With two words he would begin a new era, and secure his legacy as the man who he so yearned to be: A strong man who made a very important decision.

The words seemed to him as if they were not his own, but words stolen from the man who he was to be remembered as. They frightened him, as he had always been. He did not speak, but he heard them come out of his mouth.

"Do it."