Water Wars

This is a story I am in the process of writing. It's a post apocalyptic story that follows four different people's lives, and how they effect each other during the 18th World War. It's story about love, sacrifice, strength, bravery, and corrupted government. It's a story that tells how things turn out when you conform or not conform to the government. It's a story that you should read.


3. Gabo

I was just drifting off into a hazy restless sleep when Marbie shook me awake. She was crying and frantic with a paper in her hand. She shoved it at me and although my eyes were still clouded over with sleep the words were crystal clear. World War 18. Another war was brewing. Everyone able will be drafted and deployed tomorrow. Everyone able. Those words flooded me with a rush of horrible memories like light that rushes in when you awake. Suddenly flashes of my past clouded my mind. Explosions and screaming and blood. So much blood. Blood the color of cherries, and blood the color of scarlett, and blood the color of fire. So many hues of blood. Warm blood and cold blood. Thick blood and hard blood. Blood that slips through your fingers and stains your skin. Blood that dries right on you, trapping you in the moment, restricting your skin. So much blood it could drown you. Blood that means death. The death of my parents. My father was a doctor and my mother was a nurse, so they were much needed in the war. Three years ago, when I was 13 I was in World War 17. That was the war my parents died in. I remember that day all too clearly. We were in a shelter, a homemade shelter. I felt the happiest I had ever been that whole war in a cozy small room with both of my parents holding me. I was just drifting off into a hazy sleep when these loud noises started booming through the walls. We all got up quickly and looked out the door. Planes were flying overhead, sprinkling bombs everywhere. The whole world around me was fire and debris. And my parents started pushing me back inside the shelter. But I wanted to see, I wanted to help, I wanted to stop the explosions so I pushed through their gentle hands and ran outside the door. They screamed and chased after me. They caught me and hugged me and just when we were all together out in the open, down came a bomb. It fell hard right in front of us and before we could make out what it was it had already blown us back into the hut and caught fire. I was in searing pain, it felt as if my legs were on fire or shredded to bits, and when I looked down it was even worse. I had no legs at all. They had been blown clear off, right below the knees. The bomb had blown them right off my body and I was sitting in a pool of my own swirling scarlet blood. I heard screaming and tears were pouring down my face, but I could not tell if I was the one screaming or not. I looked over at my parents. They were in worse condition. We had little supplies, a few bandages and some gauze. My parents had them in their hands and for a moment I thought everything would be okay. They saw my legs and, through tears, bandaged them tightly. The bandages were so tight I could feel my heart beat in my thighs, the blood was soaking right through the fabric and it felt as though it was digging through my flesh but I left them on. Soon all the bandages were on my knees and the boxes of gauze empty. I looked over at my parents, pale and covered in blood. So much blood. Too much blood. That’s when I lost it, I was crying and screaming. Why hadn’t they used any of the gauze or bandages? I lost it and then I lost them. They died right there in that little homemade shelter that had caught on fire and been soaked in blood and all because of me. And now more people are going to die. Racko. Racko just turned 10 last month. He’s eligible to fight. He’s going to die. That thought was enough to wake me up. I sat straight up in bed and quickly scanned the article. World War 18 had been announced. I began to come to terms with that fact. Next- Everyone able from ages 10 to 40 will be expected to fight. Since our plot is not one of the poorer ones the ages have been lowered, that is expected. It  means Racko will be the only one fighting since I’m an amputee and Marbie is almost 50. The eligible soldiers will be deployed Monday for immediate coaching. Monday, that’s tomorrow. Racko will be leaving tomorrow. Tomorrow. I can’t come to terms with this fact. Racko gone off to fight so soon. I look up from the paper, Marbie sweeping through the house, collecting Racko’s belongings. She must have already read the paper. Tears stain her cheeks. Now we have to wait for Racko to get home from primary school. And tell him. Tell him that he will leave up

Sorry, this isn't quite finished. 

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