Shackles of War

One's notion on life varies as per their own. Even I wasn't an admirer of life until the terror was long gone. Here is how my life goes: 

It was a Monday morning in the town of Greater Hecklton. The sun topped the low hills and lit up soft lush grasslands and brought life to the fields. The town was in a joyous mood, for I was born. The sparse population of the town called for promising celebration of each birth. I slowly opened my eyes and saw a simple house with a wooden floor to be entered through a creaky door awaiting its oiling. To my far right was a shoe rack with not more than three pairs of boots, each for a different condition. The walls held spectacular paintings and the bed on which I was laid down had the fluffiness of a cloud. 

My ears rung with the sounds of drums and trumpets in the background. Many people cheered too. Suddenly, my eyes drifted towards a face. The skin that wrapped it was like thin cheese with blond hair holding on to the top. Her eyes were olive green set just above a little and pretty nose. I let out a cry which was interrupted by the destruction of a house in front of ours. It was converted into a heap of ashes. The town people were struck by terror. Everyone ran in random directions out of mortal fear. It the first time I had seen mum and unfortunately, the last. 

Out of curiosity I peeped out of the window and saw fire raging and destroying everything indiscriminately that dared to interrupt its path. My ears tuned in to the sound of gunshots and explosions. Many people who flocked to celebrate the occasion were shot dead. However to me, it was amusing. Apparently, the innocence of an infant blinded it from even the greatest adversities. Someone suddenly yelled "Take the young one and hide". That was enough to drag the attention of the enemy towards us. Mum had realized the imminent threat but didn't panic even slightly. She got up, with me in her arms towards the left of the bed. Then she revealed what was hidden from everyone's eyes- a cyclone cellar. The trapdoor had a little hole in it which was crooked, to make it less obvious that a cellar actually existed. She placed me inside and wiped her tears off her cheek. Then she kissed me on the forehead and shut the door. 

There was a silence in the air except for the gunshots and explosions. Two words broke the silence- I surrender. A gunshot and mum was never to return. My innocence had blinded me from my greatest loss. Mom's words imprinted themselves for eternity in my memory.

My only connection to the outside world was the little hole in the wooden trapdoor. It was a miracle that seven long years no one was smart enough to notice a child sitting beneath a hole observing it all. Soon the grenades blew up the house. The fate of the rest was the same, the only difference being time. The ear-splitting noise seemed to reverberate perpetually in the city. The sun continued its journey from east to west but the firing was relentless. By the time the military forces arrived on the scene, more than half the city ceased to exist. The onslaught of the enemy was unstoppable. Even the army was overpowered in a matter of minutes. By the time the sun dipped low, only a handful of us remained. One of the survivors sat with his wife watching the terror of the other end of the country. The rest were either into consoling and healing or packing up to leave. Whatever they did, their doom was inevitable. The ill-wishing ones were to return until the fate of the country was sealed; in due time I was to witness annihilation.

The sun faded away and my aunt had fed me. She was a survivor from Little Hecklton. Every night she was to come from the other town to let me have my fill of milk, till they found a safe place for all of us to move into. Soon the town of Greater Hecklton was no more. It had been a week or two since the firing had begun. Aunt had returned to feed me and to take me to Uncle's home. They had moved to Merianda, the greatest city in terms of electrical production in the continent. Again, I was to live in the cellar. Merianda was the enemy's prime target now. However, Merianda wasn't over as soon as Hecklton, for it had five times the population and four times the area. The fire engulfed the city by day and left us to wail in the night. Whenever she could, aunt would teach me the most basic ways of life, though she knew I was witness to the worst 

As time passed, haze cloaked the sky and dead bodies draped the alleyways. Even the widest river in two hundred miles was dull red with blood. Nuclear pollutants choked the city. Time passed on and people who weren't able to bear the torture committed suicide. The others were prey to the guns who sought bloodshed. 

Five long years of cellar life had passed. The Earth seemed to be cracking under the pressure. People began to develop disease. It was my sixth birthday. My gift was a diary. However everyday I prayed for my mom's resurrection, but that was unreal. I had somehow befriended my diary. I was so attached to it that I would end up talking to it.  Within a year it would get over, so Uncle would scrape up enough money to buy a new diary. The prices had rocketed. Markets opened up once in a month during the dead of night. There would be a frenzy each time the stalls were open. Uncle would barge through the mob and buy my little gift.

For a few months, life was the same until that Thursday evening. I still regret my action that day. It all happened like this:

While I was in the little cellar taking to my diary, my stomach grumbled; my appetite had increased. The raids were still taking place but my stomach wouldn't hold. I pushed the heavy metal trapdoor and climbed outside. To my misfortune, we were surrounded. The enemies were here for Uncle and now, me. I saw Uncle standing outside, poised to strike. His muscular arms held the gun with an iron grip. His sea-green eyes were trained on the enemies. My legs trembled with fear. Suddenly, it was all gone. My blood seared my skin with revenge. My eyes were fixed on the same person for a long time.

The person had a military cut and a skinny body. His eyes were an electric blue and the rest was somewhat Hitler. He was the exact same person who murdered mum. The enemies fired and Uncle didn't hesitate to retaliate. Mum's murderer wasn't interested in Uncle though. His eyes were set on me. He too remembered like it was yesterday. He brandished his dagger and charged at me. I dodged the blow but he took advantage of that. He toppled me over and pinned me to the ground. I was helpless. I cried for help. Uncle heard me and attempted to rescue me. The others thought didn't have any intention to let that happen. In his rage, Uncle shot at everything indiscriminately. By the time he shot down the last enemy soldier, I cried in agony. A pool of blood surrounded me. Uncle killed the guy who charged me at last. Revenge was taken but the damage was done. He had managed to slice my leg clean. I grasped what was left of my thigh and wailed. I had endured what most kids hadn't and what I got was punishment.

The enemy was attracted towards my crying; another mistake. The army fought them with all they had got. They certainly couldn't afford anymore casualties. It was night and we had lost yet another battle. It wasn't soon that this war would be an official World war. I had received medical attention and was properly fed. I readied myself to endure war again.

"Dear Diary

More explosions were seen and gunshots were heard. An official count said there were three million deaths in the Northern Country and four hundred and twenty deaths in the Central country. The Southern country was still being counted but currently it was almost twenty million casualties. I was shocked to hear that the United Nations was still quiet. Airstrikes and aerial assaults had commenced. Hope was being torn and reduced day by day. I hope to meet you as another diary next month.

Your Friend

Nameless"

This was the last diary entry before it was exhausted. I had to wait till my next birthday for a new one.

It was my tenth birthday. After having prayed for my mom's revival and for the end of this terrible war, I started writing:

"Dear diary

As this war goes on, I keep growing. But even after my tenth birthday, I know nothing about my family and myself. In fact, I don't even have a name. When will this misery end?

Your Friend

Nameless"

I wrote that last word with a loud sneeze. I had developed cold. The smog was so dense you could barely see two meters ahead of you.

Time had passed just like that and life seemed to be impossible. Uncle was hospitalized because he was shot in the leg. My infection had worn off but Aunt's seemed to worsen. Misery was drowning the city. The TV was on, and a live broadcast from the UN was going on. The secretary said "Sir, there are almost fifty million casualties, we simply cannot afford more" "What? I wasn't informed of this" the Chairman said. He apparently hadn't a clue what was going on. His voice though didn't have a trace of surprise. "Yes sir, what do we do?" the secretary asked. We commoners perhaps will never now what transpired amongst the leaders within the walls of the parliament but the chairman gave three words which changed everything. "Blow them up". That was a relief to us. The UN were to drop a bomb on the enemy military base. Aunt managed a weak smile. Her body was paler that usual. She is slightly built but yet had lost a lot of her weight. Her bones didn't hesitate to bare themselves. Her eyes purple eyes were set back deep in her sockets.

The next morning the raids had ceased and there weren't any airstrikes or explosions. With immense joy, I wrote in my diary

Dear Diary,

"The war has ended. Peace prevails again. Merry Christmas and a Happy New year.

Your Friend

Nameless"

The people were given immediate aid and the environment was being restored. Hecklton was being rebuilt. I had received all those awards for her which she had won due to her feats as an army nurse. I could finally visit mum's grave. I found out that her name was Ariana Richardson. My name was then kept as Albert Ariana Richardson in memory of my mum. Richardson was dad's surname with his full name being Joseph Richardson.

After having paid my last respects to mom, I returned home. Though I had endured hell itself, Everything wasn't over. Aunt's disease worsened. It was expected that her death would be within a couple of months. Throughout that time, she lived everyday like it were her last. Despite the misery of her untimely departure, I couldn't have enjoyed these days more. Uncle was my only family I had left after Aunt was gone.

Today, I sit on the dining table with a pen and paper, narrating my life to you. All of us (Uncle, Ava, my new friend and I) stared into the paper and sighed. At last, we were free from the shackles. I hope no more shall be the victims of the Great Shadow of War.