Nothing

One (and AN)

In this story, there is no happy ending.

There could seem to be one. But in reality, there is no 'good.'

That being said, there is no bad, either.

You could think of something as good, bad, or neutral. Or, you could be taught to believe it. As one of my favoured quotes said,

"The winners write the history books."

If a single event in history turned out differently, our history may be different. We might not even be here. It's amazing, the small changes that make large differences. Think of me, for example.

If WW1 never occurred, then I would not be here today. One of my great-something-grandparents was prompted to move away from their country as a child due to war, which eventually brought them to Canada, where they met the person they'd marry. They'd go on to have children, some of which who had children, and so on, until now. Think of it. The choices I make could change the future.

Same for you.

Anywho, I'm straying from the topic.

• in this story, there is no happy ending •

The calendar lay, forgotten on the ground. The air was silent, which was rare for this point of time, where you would normally hear air raid sirens, or cracks of guns, or artillery shots. But today a fog covered the sky, and the skies were grey.

The town was abandoned long ago by civilians. Now, it was a camp for soldiers. A checkpoint. To hold the ground from the enemy.

There were sandbags all around. To the average eye, it would appear as if no one was there. But anyone knew that this camp was home to snipers in every window, soldiers on every corner. Even so, there were a few tanks within the brush.

The calendar, again. What year did it say?

This was no old conflict, yes. It was a major one, but fairly recent as well.

2139, the date read on its dusted pages.

One of the snipers sat within a small apartment, emptied out it seemed. They were silent. War was not a pleasant thing, take that for granted. This soldier knew that. But he wanted, he wished to go home.

But no one could go home, until the invaders were defeated.

A whooshing noise snapped him out of thought. He leans towards the side of the window and lowered himself, holding his rifle as he scans the ground before moving to the skies. The whoosh stays quiet for a while, but progressively gets closer, until it's a loud roar. He's tempted to close his eyes and plug his ears, but the enemy could be anywhere.

Finally, a craft passes above the town, going past his view point briefly. He relaxes when he notices the familiar design.

'One of ours.'

But it didn't last for long. It was going at a fast speed, and it was alone, as well. A failed assault? Running away?

Or perhaps, hijacked.

Hijacking planes was getting common in this course of war. The designers planned to put in a code, that only the ally could know, and activate the plane with. So far, the plans were not completed.

He resumed his position. Now is not the time to worry. Now is the time to believe. That we'll win this war. We'll loose battles, but not the war. We'll win the war.

I hope.