Not Allowed

VIII

I stepped back and looked at the finished product. The canvas looked exactly like the sunset I watched with Ash. Along with it I painted a hill with two people laying on it holding hands, they kind of looked like Ash and I... I took it to my boss, put it on her desk and rushed out.
          Later that morning I took my younger siblings to the park for a little while before school. Did I have fun? Yeah. Did I still have the temptation to go back to cave? Big time.
           I sat by a tree staring into the distance. It took me a while before I realized I was staring at the path to the cave. I only noticed because I felt a pull, an urge to get up and go there. I couldn't grasp it. The idea that I just had to be there all the time was outrageous to me. I used to be able to be away from the cave and not mind, but now subconsciously my body is doing its hardest to get me to the cave.
        I shook my head and called to my siblings telling them that it was time for school. What is going on with me?
       I walked Kye, and Anita to school and decided to take a walk. Bad idea. I was ten yards down the secret path through the woods leading to the cave before I realized where my feet were taking me. I'm losing it I swear.
       I went off the path and found a clearing with a log, so I sat and attempted to gather and examine my thoughts. My head swam fast, to fast for me to process anything. It was like everything was wanting my attention first so my thoughts just kept pushing and shoving each other creating one big mess.
        The ground shook causing me to lose what little concentration I had. A bomb, how close was I to the war zone? I walked further into the woods. About fifty yards later I came to the end, right outside our base.
        I froze at the sight. Soldiers running back and forth through the trenches. The constant yells of leaders commanding their troops. Medics rushing around getting the wounded to the sickbay. The worst of all? Seeing soldiers fall. It didn't matter what side they were on, anytime I saw a soldier die I flinched and my heart ached.
        I heard the familiar booming voice of my father calling for another wave of bombs. My eyes widened, and I ran. I new my dad was the leading general, but seeing him order his men to kill people was terrifying. I eventually stopped running and just sat down. My breath quickened, I was terrified absolutely terrified.
        I knew we were at war. Why did this surprise me? Seeing something is different than knowing about it. I've heard the gun shots, I've felt the shockwaves from bombs, but seeing it up close makes it real, that kind of real that you wish so hard that it never existed.
      Spencer did that every day for over a year. I don't know how he didn't go crazy from fear. He was incredibly brave. My eyes began to water. I didn't care to hide it. I broke down, and I was running again. This time I was running home.
      I tore through the front door, up the stairs, and into my bedroom. I practically dove under my bed. I frantically searched for something. My fingers brushed against the envelope that contained a letter from Spencer. He sent it to me three months into joining the army.
      On the front it read "Don't open until ready." I knew exactly why he said that since the moment I read those words. Don't open until you know you can handle the gory details about war.
     I honestly had forgotten about it because I was never ready until now. I had seen war up close for one minute, but all you need is ten seconds to know the horrifying details.
      I sat down and opened the envelope.

Dear Ryan,

   Three months ago I was thrilled at the idea of going off to war. I was excited to serve justice and defend our village. I dare say I regret it.
    Three months into war and I want out. It's a blood bath. It seems to be a competition, whoever has the most blood on their conscious wins. These men are nothing, slaves to war. They live and breath it. They can watch people die and not flinch. They see their comrades dies and they just shoot an kill. Please don't let me become one of these people.
    I can't quit now, there are rules, but at least I can keep my sanity. I need your help. You're the only one that could help. Help me to not lose myself.
                                        With Love,
                                             Spencer

      A drop of water fell on my hand, it was a second before I realized it was a tear. My tear. I had failed. I let him slip. I let him become a slave of war.
       Three months after receiving the letter he became what he'd feared, and I let him. He would say how much he hated Fidem, how much they deserved what they got, competing with his fellow soldiers for the most blood.
      I sat there crying because he relied on me to help him and I didn't even try. I failed him. He became a war machine because I was too weak to read a letter. If only I'd read it when I got it, he could've died his old innocent self. If I'd read that damn letter he might've lived.
      But no, I kept putting it off. Always saying that I wasn't ready because I was in denial. The part of me who wanted to ignore the war won over, and because of that I failed him.
      I curled up into a ball, still clutching the paper. I began muttering the same thing over and over again.
     "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry."