Then
"Nathan, come on," my mother called to me. It was my tenth birthday and we were going to the beach. My older brother, Quinton, raced past me and out the door. I picked up the toy soldier that my grandpa had given me the day before as an early birthday present. I ran to meet my brother and parents.
"About time," my mother stated as we began our walk to the beach.
When we got there, Quinton and I raced each other to the water. We splashed one another and enjoyed ourselves, but time flies by when you are having fun. The sun began to set, shining bloody orange across the ocean.
"Come on, boys!" my mother called.
Quinton and I obeyed and we sprinted to meet our parents. My mother wrapped me in a towel, drying me off. After I was dry, I removed the water from my toy soldier.
When we got home, my father turned on our old radio to listen to the news on the Cold War. War was very scary for me. I was afraid that America would get attacked and my family would be killed. I had nightmares of my brother being killed by the Russians. Nobody knew when the Cold War was going to end, but I wished it would. I didn't understand why anyone would want to attack America. I looked over to my mother who sat in the wooden rocking chair, sewing a dress together.
"Mother, why do we have wars?" I asked.
"Because those stupid Ru-" my dad began yelling, but he was cut off by my mother.
"John, I will tell him," my mother said. "We and the Soviet Union have tension between us right now. Our country is afraid of the spread of communism from the Soviet Union so we want to go into containment."
"Why would they want to spread communism?" I asked.
"They want land to be owned by the public instead of people having their own property, and each person is paid due to their needs," she simplified. Changing the subject, she stated, "I believe it is you and your brother's bedtime."
Quinton and I made our way to our shared room. We had to sleep on the same, worn out bed because we were so poor. I laid down on my side of the bed next to Quinton.
"Are you afraid?" I asked.
"Of what?" he questioned.
"The bad guys killing us," I replied.
"No, I'm not afraid. Are you?"
"A little," I replied honestly.
"Don't worry," Quinton whispered. "One day, I will wear a uniform and fight off the bad guys so you don't have to feel scared."
"Thank you," I told him.
With that, I fell asleep, feeling safe that my brother would protect me.
YOU ARE READING
Life is Short
Historical Fiction~ Featured on Historical Fiction profile. ~ ~Submitted in the Mark Twain Writing Conference.~ I sit on the front row, staring at the pale, lifeless body before me. The body I can identify as my older brother, Quinton. The man I have spent my life an...
