Warcry (Short Story)

Warcry

     War rages around me - the screams of men, women, and children alike ring in the air, pounding in my ears louder than that of the gunshots. It hurts my head as though I am the one in pain, but I'm not. I haven't got a scratch.

     Men defend their families, women defend the children, and the children cower in fear as their parents or guardians are shot dead in front of them, slain before their innocent, unblinking eyes.

     And then there's me.

     My name shall not be spoken, because I only have a few minutes. Four, at the most, before the bomb they planted in our neighborhood goes off.

     Four minutes.

     That's all the time I have.

     Four minutes until the pain is over.

     Four minutes until I finally die.

     How did the world come to this? All the hate, the brutality? And for something of so little value in comparison to a human life?

     I'll tell you. This state of nature is what came to pass when our country's government formed. A man, whose name has been lost to time, once spoke of this future. Everyone had a right to anything - and this would cause us to be our own downfall. He was right, in a way. His words spoke of us humans as selfish, quick to fight. We would always be at war, he said, according to the history books. Nobody would invent new ideas for fear that someone else might steal them.

     This is what happened, and it began so long ago when this mystery man was still alive. I believe that, whoever he was, he would be disappointed if he could see what we've become - a little more than monsters, tearing apart our world with violence, and death. Heck, I am disappointed, and I wasn't even alive when we were given this warning.

     He warned us, but we didn't listen. We didn't establish a stable or a sane enough government and it led us here, to the destruction of life everywhere one looks. Now, the few of us who still have hearts wonder how, or why, but it's right here in front of us. This is our fault, and ours alone. And now we go down in the mess we created. We refused to heed the warning and plunged ourselves into an abyss of utter chaos. If only we had listened . . .

     But it's too late now.

     Too late for us and too late for me. The bomb has thirty seconds left - it can be seen from here. I hear my little sister cry out in terror. If she understands what's happening, I'll commend her. These last few years have forced her to grow up too quickly. I wonder what she would have grown up to be - What I would have become if not for this war. My last - my only - wish is that things had turned out different. I wish with everything in my being that the world had not reduced itself to what it is now.

     Please, to whoever survives this war, be you American, German, African, or even Japanese . . . forgive us. Please forgive us for destroying ourselves.

Well I hope that story was good. I wrote it in government class as a project so . . .

Cover by meha_k