The Young

Prolouge

A shattering scream brought me back to reality. I was still on the battlefield, bullets were still whizzing past, people still crying out in pain as the metal found its mark. I was just thinking about how I got into this mess. It was the last normal day, the last time I didn't have to fear for my life.
*****
January 1st, 2179. There are too many people, murder has become normal, a child by the age of five had already seen on average 56,397 deaths on TV. Human life is not valuable anymore. Yet, this is what I call home, my normal. There have been six world wars in our history, our world is currently in our seventh. America has already drafted four times. President Macallan had declared that the drafts would be made lawful during the fourth world war since the U.S was running low on troops and there were many able-bodied men sitting at home on the couch. The law caused many riots among the people since Richard Nixon had long ago declared the deed unlawful, but nonetheless, it was decided and had taken action. Each draft the age of acceptance for a child murdering another child, while a rich, fat man stuffing his face, sends them to their deaths, goes farther and farther down. The only way to get out of it is to be pregnant, be a woman with kids to take care of, physically incapable of walking, or you are under the age that they are drafting. So far they have taken my older two brothers, Ajax, and Smith. Ages 19 and 17. Twenty years ago they would still be considered kids. When they left, our mother sobbes seeped their way into my dream each night. Yet she still put on a brave face she had to.
My mother still had two kid she had to take care of by herself. My father, you may be wondering left years ago. The last I had heard of him is that his body is buried who knows where on some battlefield in some place. We got a letter, a single letter stating that my father was dead- oh, and a thanks. Yeah, thanks for letting the one man who was supposed to teach me to shave, play ball with- yet they needed him to shoot a few people then take one bullet so another man didn't have to. That one letter broke my ma's heart, yet the thing is it would be broken many more times. Like when Ajax had to leave, then the second letter came- Then Smiths-letter, It's only a matter of time until a letter came for me, the first saying I have to come and die, next a letter saying I did die- then my youngest sister, Emma. They will take her next-letter. And soon they will take my mother who has no more kids to take care of no more reason to stay out of this war. The last letter will arrive to no one because no one will be there to receive it. Mother will be gone, since she has no more use to be at home, they would have whisked her off as soon as Emma left. Then when mother died, yeah not if when it's always when. There will be no letter because no one will care.