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War and Life do not deserve one another. Read? |
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They gave me box. A box. As if a box would somehow replace, my home, and my family. It wasn't filled with anything. The guard that handed me the box had blue eyes. He handed me the box and thanked me for my sacrifice. These are things I'll never forget. Even as I lie on my death bed I think I'll always remember that a blue eyed guard handed me an empty box to replace my family. And that as he did so he thanked me for my sacrifice.I was 12. I am 19 now. I lay on my back staring at the open heartbreaking sky,blue no longer because it reflects beautiful oceans as it did when I was a child, but blue from chemical upon chemical spilled onto the city streets. Among me others lay watching the sun trek it's way threw the sky. Others that like me realized that many of our family had never had a chance to think about the sun, or the rounds it made. They spent they're whole lives protecting us. Never once stopping to notice the beautiful patterns made by Canadian Geese made while twirling threw smog ridden streets. Us being a group of young scruffy children. Whose parents had been killed of by the many multiple blasts of H-Bombs quietly delivered by whatever country ours was in war with.We gathered telling stories. "They gave me a gun and some cavalier and thanked me for my service. I started crying and yelling for my mother, so they gave me a pin with an angel on it. They told me if I died it would be such a great honor that the angel would become real and take me to see my mother. I realized then that not only was my mother dead,but these boys only a couple years older than me wanted me to died for them." Says a boy who look relatively young. But once he looks you in the eyes, you know he's more of an adult than you'll ever be. " My names Ion by the way." Many nod and answer with names and numbers. The girl next to me is next to speak. " Boys had it worse. I lived in a family of 6 boys and me. One day my mother came home, she ran into our shared dormitory. She told the boys to go into her closet and pick a dress. They all stared at her, and the youngest my twin, Mick made a big fuss. I remember mother took him by the shoulders and shook him. ' Do you want to die Boy? Your my youngest and my angel do you want to go to war!!??' she broke down and started to cry. Ravi the oldest took Mick by the hand and dressed him in one of my dresses. Our brothers hair hadn't been cut in a while and now I understood why. But the officers took them anyway. Than they set fire to the dresses and beat them for being emasculated in such a way. I never saw them again. Then my mother died, father just never came home. I was 4." There are many stories worse than mine, worse than theirs. It's time to do something. Which is why we're here. Because where about to risk everything. To be like our parents. But unlike them. Where about to stop being able to watch the skies. Where about to start a war. A war where children are used. A war to take back what was ours. Hopefully this will be a war, a war of words. It's just that no one has said it yet. |
| Chapter | 1 | Taken By the streets | 2.50k |
| Chapter | 2 | Taking The Streets | 3.59k |
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