Buried Tears
This morning I woke up to the warmth of the sun shining through my window. I sat up, stretched, and got out of bed. I smelled bacon and sweet syrup in the air. Walking faster I turned the corner and saw a plate stacked with waffles, berries, bacon, and, of course, an avalanche of syrup and whipped cream. I smiled knowing mom had left this here for me before leaving for work.
After I finished my delicious breakfast I grabbed my little box from my room along with a shovel and headed outside. I started by following my map until I reached the old oak tree. I then began breaking ground and hummed as I dug. I dug and dug until the hole was about two yards deep. I then ran inside for some flowers, a piece of paper, and a black pen. When I reached the hole again I sat down and opened my precious box. Looking at each of the objects I briefly stopped to remember the dear memories they each held. I brushed my fingertips across the objects and then stopped at a little piece of fabric. To many it may look like trash, but it holds more importance than it appears. The cloth was actually four pieces of clothing sewn together. Each piece holds the same story but for different people. I delicately picked up the embroidered fabric and held it to my chest. I smelled the aroma and it took me back to December 16th of 2023. I still remember that day clearly.
The year 2020 had taken its toll on all of us and just when we thought it was over the worst of it was just beginning. First COVID-19, then the Australian fires, the civil rights riots, natural disasters, and a worldwide panic. The list goes on. But that was only the beginning. We got word about a possible World War 3 but the general public pushed it aside thinking it was just a false rumor. Then December 16, 2023, I saw images of a demolished city flash across the television screen. I quickly jumped online to find an answer and stopped in my tracks as I heard a reporter say the words, “Korea has made their move; It is now a war against us all.” Countries soon allied. Russia, Mexico, and China called themselves “The New World” while America allied with Europe, Canada, Japan, Germany, New England, and others.
Papa, Chase, and Cole all got drafted immediately leaving Ma, Mac, and me to hope for the best. Chase was my oldest brother, age 20 with brown hair and a strong build. Though he looked intimidating and always got into fights he had a soft spot for us. I remember falling asleep on his chest after a hard day often. Cole was only 17 but that did not stop him from growing. Being 6’8”, he was the star of our high school basketball team and had college scouts recruiting him since freshman year. He would always tease me but would never allow anyone else to. It was quite ironic. I could always count on him to help me. Mac was my best friend. She was beautiful at age 15 -- tall, blonde, and striking with her glowing blue eyes. It seemed as if she was always in a happy mood. We always had late night talks and even though she didn't have her license we would sneak the car and blast music as we drove to circle K.
When the war hit we tried our best to remain positive -- Mac especially. Mom went into depression so Mac took over; cleaning the house, getting a part-time job, and keeping up with school and sports all the while making time for me.
The War was the worst thing I had ever seen. Blood bathed the world. Gas, bombs, guns, disease, anything you can think of was used against us. This went on for two years but it felt like ten. With food shortages, death, and unstable economies, millions were lost. You can imagine our relief when the war was finally announced over. The American allies won, but it was at a horrible cost. We had no choice but to bomb all of Korea, China, and Russia. They were all wiped out; no survivors. At least that's what the government said. How could someone do such an awful thing? Of course the idea of it all bothered me, but I pushed it away rationalizing that I would soon see everyone again and things would go back to normal. Mac was not so easily convinced that the horrors should be forgotten. But I also ignored that.
The following week I woke up eager to see our family again. Ma, Mac, and I all went to the train station to meet the boys. I nervously searched the crowd of soldiers and civilians for their familiar faces. I saw my brothers and father and started running with tears stinging my eyes. I yearned for their warm embrace as I ran faster. And then I saw a glaring light. Something was not right. Suddenly I felt a giant shove on my left side. I heard a crackling sound as my head hit the cement. What? Who? Mac? She had shoved me so hard I somehow ended up outside the open entrance. I looked back and saw a fearful look in her blue eyes. I went to cry out but was interrupted by a giant explosion, and I watched their faces disappear into black.
One by one they all vanished. The last thing I saw was Mac’s face, smiling sadly. She then closed her eyes mouthing words I couldn't make out. I screamed but couldn’t move. They all died that day, except for ma and I. Ma survived because she went back to the car to grab her flowers. We were both placed in a hospital, mom at first was in shock and wouldn't move but soon recovered. I, on the other hand, was still in a coma.
Ma was determined. Though I couldn't move at all, I could hear everything. I caught her crying every now and then when she thought no one was looking. And then one night when she came in to tuck me in, I heard her heels on the floor stop by my bedside. “They are gone, but I won't lose you too. I love you so stay strong. I know you are hurting and can hear me. I promise I will fight for you forever and we will find out who killed them.” After saying those words she kissed me on the forehead and left. It was torturous. I couldn't cry, make a sound, anything. I just sat there replaying what happened at the train station with an empty hole in my heart.
I stayed like this for two months. Sitting in darkness, hearing every crying soul and whisper. Through this all I had a burning pain throughout my body that was almost unbearable. And then suddenly one morning -- I woke up. By pure miracle, I recovered fully. My mom wouldn't leave my side once I awoke. When we finally got home we promptly boxed up our family's belongings and promised to always look out for one another.
As I sat remembering all of this, I realized I was crying. I quickly wiped the tears away. I clung to the fabric and then placed it in my locket. I need to stay strong. I must find the truth about what happened at the train station. The government is lying to us and someone needs to find out what really happened.
I placed my belongings back in the box: a beautiful old watch belonging to my dad, a hair clip of Mac’s, Cole’s medal from 5th grade, and Chase’s special rock. I sealed it shut along with the note I wrote to myself, “To Remember the Past, December 16, 2023, Olive Mecvedter.” Gingerly, I placed the box in the freshly-dug hole and lifted a shovel full of damp dirt. I promised myself that I will remember them and never forget. My new life meant fighting for what is right and a better future. I walked determinedly inside...tears buried in the dirt.
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