Losing the Game

You were lying to me. Ender said silently. You lied to me and you still haven't told me the truth. He'd now missed most of what the men were saying, but did manage to catch the last sentence the eldest one spoke. 

"At least they had the good sense not to tell Ender that the boy died."  

Good sense? Ender wanted to scream at the oblivious men sitting before him. Keeping the fact that he had killed an innocent person away from him wasn't at all good sense. It was the opposite of decency; it was pure cruelty. Nothing could be worse than this. And sure enough, Ender had jinxed it.  

"It's the second time, too." Graff said, drumming his fingers atop the table.  

The third man looked over at the Colonel, his face hard and cold to match his serious deep voice. "They didn't tell him about Stilson, either."  

The words hit Ender like a strong blow to the gut, knocking the wind out of his lungs. He bit down on his hand, and then covered his mouth with it. Tears started to form at his eyes and it took everything in his willpower not to start having an emotional break down outside the conference room door.  

"The kid is crazy."  

"Ender Wiggin isn't a killer. He just wins-thoroughly."  

Ender couldn't see who was talking anymore; he had closed his eyes shut tightly. The next person who spoke, however, Ender didn't have to see to identify. Graff's rough voice cut through the silence that had briefly settled over the room.  

"If anybody's going to be scared, let it be the buggers."  

The buggers! Ender exclaimed silently, anger burning his face. Everything revolves around the buggers... They're more valuable to them than a human life.  

Ender knew he had to leave, but a sickening urge to hear what else they had to say consumed him and he stayed put.  

"Makes you almost feel sorry for them, knowing Ender's going to be coming after them."  

"The only one I feel sorry for is Ender. But not sorry enough to suggest they ought to let up on him."  

Is that all they really view me as? Ender thought to himself. Am I just some ruthless killer who serves solely as some valuable national resource? Not to take pity upon, no, but to be used and manipulated into helping destroy another species of living, breathing organisms? 

A small cry of despair escaped his mouth and caused the three men to instantaneously turn towards the door. Graff stood up, straightening out his jacket as he did so. He walked slowly, silently towards the door that stood ajar. His feet made no noise as they touched the ground, and in one quick movement he kicked the door open with the bottom of his shoe.  

He stepped out into the hallway, glancing around thoroughly. Graff didn't bother to check down the hallways branching off of the corridor, which was lucky for Ender since he'd barely managed to scurry behind the corner of a wall just as Graff emerged from the room. Graff's subject of business with his colleagues was obviously much more important than such a small disturbance, so he turned back towards the two men sitting at the conference table. He cleared his throat, looking each of them in the eye.  

"So, where were we, gentlemen?"  

And with that, Graff closed the door firmly shut behind him. The very moment that he did so, Ender took off running. He forgot about the game, his friends, the fate of the world... He had to find a way to leave. He didn't deserve to live; a murderous killer wasn't deserving of having others look up to him-not as a human-being, or a leader. He'd never felt so utterly alone before, and knew that no matter what plan of action was taken that he'd eventually crack under pressure one day.