Overthrown

Overthrown

By Maci Currey

I hear the loud beeping sound and see the horrifying red bar sliding across the screen. The horrible beeping sound, the sound of destruction, the sound that haunts me in my nightmares. It reads the word “Breaking” in big bold letters that will never leave your head. A newsperson pops up on the screen, they have a bland expression and voice to match. We gather around to watch, me my mother, my father, and four brothers. “The government is being overthrown, please stay inside, be careful. There have already been many casualties. Anyone caught fighting for the rebels will be punished.” the news person said their blank expression remaining unchanged. There is a loud banging at the door, the banging snaps me back from the endless vacuum of news. We just stare at the door, waiting, the few seconds seem endless and slow, we just sit staring at the towering door, I notice the paint peeling on the door and the wood showing through, there are two more bangs. They are loud and long, the sound seemed to hang in the dusty, quiet air. My father gets up to answer the door, it creaks open, two towering figures stand there. They step in the door and two more follow behind them. They are military, I can tell by their uniform but we can’t see their faces just the bug-eyed goggles staring back and camo masks covering their faces. They had big broad shoulders and mud-coated boots leave trails through our house. They stomp around with no regard for where they are, they search through everything we have. They walk all about the house, tearing open cabinets, digging through our stuff, my father follows them asking them questions, but they only grunt in response. They keep searching, their boots echoing on the old floorboards. They put everything back neatly where it was as if they thought they were being polite. When they are done they have taken things in a sack, I am not sure what. “Sir you are coming with us by order of the U.S. government.” one of the figures says in a low, stern, expressionless voice. “Why?” my father asks with a slight tinge of terror in his voice. “By order of the government, anyone over the age of 17 is ordered to join the military and fight the rebels” he repeated hastily as if we already knew this. I stared at them in horror in shock, the bland voice of the news person just a background whisper in my head. This doesn’t seem real, where is the sweet voice of my mother to wake from this horrible nightmare. I brought back out of my thoughts by the pleads of my mother, the soldiers begin to usher my father out and I hear the cold broken wails of my mother and two younger brothers as they take him away. We are left there, in a mess of confusion and grief, but just before the last soldier leaves he turns, points at my oldest brother, and says “All be back for you soon enough” without another word the door creaks shut and they slip off into the night. The only evidence that they were here is the speckles of mud strewn about the floor. We gather ourselves and take into account what they took. They took all the phones and knives from the kitchen. But why? We have been on the brink of a revolution for ages, the odds of that happening balanced on the edge of a knife, so why have they come now to take people? We all sleep downstairs together, I curl up on the ground and drift off, my thought from the day never fully leaving me. That’s when the horrors begin. I hear the bangs on the doors loud and deafening sounds of horror, in the background the droning news person echoing the terrors of the world to all who would listen. The big muddy boots chased me, stomping, I hear the cold screams of terror ringing out in the darkness, they make my blood curdle in my veins, and a chill like a spider creeping up my spine. I shoot up and the rays of the fiery fall sun peak through the curtains waiting to set our living room on fire with its illuminating rays. I hear the sounds of frantic footsteps around my house, I get up and walk around the corner of the wall to the next room where bags are laying about the dining room floor. My mom picks up a backpack and shoves it into my arms. “This is yours,” she says blanking but frantically. I put it on. “ Why are we leaving?” I ask trying to look at my mother but she is too frantic. She freezes and turns to me to respond, but before she can the sound of a place rings out through the air. I see the pure terror in her sad eyes, the same horrified expression was echoed onto the face of all of us. This wasn’t an ordinary plane sound, it was the sound that struck fear into the eyes of everyone, the sound of a bomber. “Run!” my mother shouts. 

We run out the door, the bags bounced on our backs, we ran as fast as we could, my oldest brother carried my little brother. We ran and tripped, we weren’t used to running but this was fueled by pure adrenaline. My mother is in the lead because none of us know where we are going, we hear the deafening sound of the bombers streaking across the sky. I see the sleek dark ominous planes soar across the blank sky. They dropped their weapons of terror and destruction, the first hit farther away. I saw the explosion happen, the screams of the victims stuck in the air and echoed through my ears. Their last cries for help hung in the smokey air. Plumes of smoke infect the sky consuming it and the fire burned bright as it engulfed its victims, it ate its way through houses and trees and danced in the streets. My ears ached after the deafening sound of the explosion. But then more came, they rained down from the sky emerging from the smoke and all we can is run and hope one didn’t go off near. We run through the endless gray fields of smoke as it slithers through our lungs and tries to suffocate us. Then the worst comes to a bomb goes off near us sending us flying, the fiery sparks fly and the fire triumphantly dances on the streets. I open my eyes to the smoke and a metallic taste sticks in my mouth and I feel the warm liquid running down my cheek. I finally come to my senses and I try to get up but I can’t, my legs can’t support me and are extremely wobbly. I just can’t get up. The dark smoke is everywhere I can’t see a thing and then the smoke takes my breath out of me. I see nothing but darkness.

I shoot up my heart racing, gasping, trying to grab on to a breath I am in an old shack There are a couple of people there, I don’t know who they are. But their dirty faces and sad eyes stare back at me. I feel my face and there is a patch there, I probably got hurt when the bomb went off. I notice I can’t hear out of my left ear. I rush through the shack, searching and looking, and I rush through the front door, and one of the people chases after me. I run out to see a world of chaos and destruction. Old recks of places little fires still burning, I feel the cold tears roll down my face and the salty taste on my dry crackly lips. I look over to the figure next to me and croak out a few shaky words “Where are they?”.