The Shorts of Cambrie Chase

War that Never Ended

As the sky created its next evening artwork, my friends and I ran through the sea of blankets and people, enjoying the crisp fall air. This was a perfect evening for the celebration; only a few clouds were gathering along the horizon and a gentle breeze whispered through the city. If it wasn't for the vibrant colors of the leaves, I could have almost believed that it was spring. Children chased each other through the fairground with sugary energy, racing from attraction to attraction, hands full of cotton candy. On the opposite side of the field, their parents lounged peacefully, much differently than what we'd been last year, even when the end had been so near.
I hardly remember the events of last year, it's all just a giant blur of blood, weapons, shouting, and death. I had had friends die then. My uncle too. That I remembered. It wasn't a depressing memory, though. They were all in a better place now and this celebration was a chance to honor them and all the other brave soldiers that had died fighting to protect our small nation.
In one great moment, the band's song ended simultaneously with the first explosions of the fireworks. All the crowds gathered together, family and friends, united in defense of this country and united to each other. As colors filled the darkening sky, loved ones were remembered and honored, even if the horrors of the war had been washed away, their memories would not.

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    They say that a person's worst enemy is himself, it's true. And it goes for countries too. A decade ago, the rope had already been tied around our neck, by our own rulers, and it was pulling tighter and tighter. No one else seemed to realize it. We were the ones to grab that rope and yank it away, at least temporarily. No one else seemed to realize how hard that was. To turn from our friends, and in some cases our family, in order to save this nation from itself. No one seemed to realize that that took bravery, every bit of courage we possessed. No. We were labeled as rebels and peace-disturbers, simply because they didn't realize what we were actually doing. A year ago, they had tried to stomp us out once and for all. Then they tried to move on with their lives as if nothing had happened, but we didn't die. Not even close. They allowed the rope to be pulled even tighter. We can't allow that. I can't allow that. And so we have to fight back again. Now.
    I shoved my fiery-red hair into a dark cap- hiding it as I had for so long hid my rage over this war- as I moved through the empty streets, the sky clouded, blocking any light from the moon on the horizon. The black of night matched the black of my clothing. There were no stars in the sky, or on my heart. No light. No mercy. No hope, for them at least. No hope that the light would come back and everything would be fine. No hope that this war they'd tried to forget about was smothered forever. Everyone in this treacherously joyous town was out celebrating. Celebrating what? I didn't know. Their own suicides? Celebrating what a fine job they had done this past year, pretending that everything was back to normal? No, not normal. Nothing was normal anymore, but it was back to the same crumbling society that we had before. Several fireworks crashed through the air in the distance, disturbing the peace and solitude that I would have gladly welcomed on this night.
    I reached Grotens' Marketplace at 9:27. Only three minutes to wait. I reviewed everything once more in my head. Our entrance, our job, the reason why, the escape routes, Plan B, and C, and D. I checked my equipment, making sure I had a surplus of everything I would need. We would not be beaten. Not again. Never again.
     The van materialized out of the mist, but, as quick as it had appeared, it was leaving. This time with another passenger. 15 people in the van. 15 people on the team. I knew that there were more. Many more, all around the city, the country, picking up the final members of their groups and getting ready for the final attack.

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    The fireworks continued to display their wonderful colors through the serene sky. Everyone oohed and aahed over the sparks flowing down into the field. Gasping in an upbeat shock as one exploded a little too close to our heads. Each boom gave me hope, reminding me of the conflict we had overcome and the new future that awaited us now that the rebel organization had been dismantled. I had had some good friends there, people I loved and cherished. At first it hadn't made sense to me, to be fighting them. Or to be fighting at all. I didn't understand then, and I guess I still don't now. What was so bad about this beautiful nation, so bad that it would cause people to turn their backs on their homes and try to rip it to shreds?
    Screams suddenly sprinted through the sea of onlookers. Mothers and fathers grabbed children. The elderly were dragged along swifter than they'd moved in twenty years. Everyone ran faster than the screams themselves as a gigantic stray firework shot through the crowd horizontally, leaving a burning, smoking tail in its wake. It exploded right before our eyes, not safe in the distant atmosphere, but a few feet off the ground, right in the face of those who had not been able to run far enough.
    I didn't understand what was going on. No one did it seemed. Confusion laughed its way through huddled crowds of people; hand in hand with fear and chaos. Crying children yelled for Mom and Dad, even Grandma or Auntie. Anyone.
    Then like the tide, black swarms came rushing in. The explosions of the colors above were replaced by the snaps of gunshots. Only the fire that had consumed the field where we had just fled illuminated the attackers. No bodies fell lifelessly to the ground, at least as much as I could see, but as the attackers multiplied, our numbers seemed to diminish.