I should start by saying that no children died in my reenactment. I should amend that: A ton of children died, more than the amount that died in the books, but I don't really think I should be blamed for that. I don't want to insult your intelligence or waste your time (or mine) explaining why I don't think I should be blamed, so we'll just move on.
Apparently I didn't endear myself to this wonderful community via my comprehensive endurance test/death match with somewhere between 26 and 38 children (it is to my eternal regret that I didn't keep better track of my "inventory." That's on me). According to our (you'll agree) antiquated legal system, that makes me what the great state of Pennsylvania is calling "An Enemy of Humanity," a branding that will never be dropped (save for in the minds of future thinkers, who will no doubt view me as a genius visionary, like a well-toned Martin Luther King, or a less shitty Gandhi).
"Tell us again, Dad! Tell us of the brave man who was like Marcus Aurelius, but tougher and with a bigger dick. Tell us about Daniel."
To the parents of the children who are "no longer with us," and especially to the parents of the children who are just straight up dead now, I understand why you're upset, and I imagine that no amount of apologies or "Get over it"s from me will fill the void left by your son, daughter or both, so I'm not even going to try. That would be disrespectful to the memory of your children, not to mention a tremendous misuse of my time, which could be better spent on meditation, self-reflection and breaking out of prison. All I can say is that by watching your children in their last moments on earth, I've gained great insight into their hearts and souls -- the kind of insight that can only be developed when one watches the light extinguish from someone else's eyes -- and you'll all be happy to know that, at the end of the day, your children just didn't want it bad enough. Otherwise they would've won. Obviously.
You should know that he was never brave, not for a second.