By Miles Rost
I remember the day very well.
I was standing at my post, looking out at the rest of the city. It was a warm day, and I sometimes cursed the fact I had to wear such an unappealing uniform on such days.
It was the day when I could do nothing. I stood as a young man drove across the bridge I was facing, and ran over a child.
I wanted to help, I pleaded in my head to help. But I was sworn to a duty to protect this place.
That was the first day when I started to hate my job.