The Ambiguity of it All

There are sensitive themes: war, existential dread, sickness

We were just kids when the regime in our country, Zanaria, changed. Suddenly, the sky felt heavy on our shoulders. One-third of the fit men were sent on ships to work in the mines on the East Side of the Old Land.

I was thirteen, watching birds fly through the smoke of the factories where weapons were crafted. They wanted to escape. I felt scared most of the time. Days came and went, and everyone was waiting for the war to start.

My mother assured me we would be okay, but when I looked outside, all I felt was dread.

At first, I spent a lot of time reminiscing about what life used to be like—the ease of mundane days, the summer when my friends and I would visit each other's houses, make noise, and bother our parents while running around, enjoying ourselves. Then I would snap back to reality. It felt surreal how we had once been so used to feeling light and now were so accustomed to the persistent weight of fear.

My best friend was Sally, a pale, skinny girl whose warmth and kindness always comforted me. She was like an older sister. But Sally was different from the other kids. She couldn’t play with us for too long before exhaustion took over, forcing her to rest. In September that year, her parents told me she would never grow old, but at the time, that reality still seemed far away.

By late November, I had managed to momentarily distract myself from the looming war by keeping busy. I was helping my mother in the kitchen when someone knocked on the door. It was almost curfew, so we weren’t expecting visitors.

I opened the door to find Sally, distressed.

"Sally, why are you here so late?" I asked anxiously.

"I needed to see you, Evlon," she replied, removing her shoes in the foyer.

My mother came from the kitchen. "It's almost eight—you need to be at home. You know the curfew situation very well."

"I’m sorry, but it was urgent." Her eyes were dull, her skin paler than usual. "The government is sending my father to the East Side. We received the letter today."

My mother and I froze in shock. It was happening so soon. Her father was among the first men from our town to be sent away. Apparently, a mine had collapsed a few nights prior, injuring many men. Of course, our glorious government covered it up, ensuring that no one tried to prevent themselves from being taken. Once in the mines, there was no certainty of return. Some were sent to factories or fields, but none came home anytime soon.

Sally looked into my eyes, waiting for a response. None came. My head spun, my shoulders felt heavier, and I was speechless—another blow...

By the time I turned fourteen, Sally’s father had long been gone. I tried to sustain some sense of normalcy—keeping a routine, writing my songs, talking to friends, forcing myself to be cheerful for my family. But the truth was, I was losing my mind. Not just because things were getting worse, but because of how slowly it was all unfolding. Weeks passed, and still, there was no news of war—only rumors. I wished we were all dead rather than trapped in this limbo: one reality where nothing happened, and another where war had already begun. The ambiguity drained me.

One day, I visited Sally after school. She had fallen ill and couldn’t attend lessons. Her mother let me in, and I found her sitting outside in the backyard. It was early spring—cold—but she didn’t seem to mind.

"Hey, how are you feeling today?" I asked.

"I’ve been better, but the fresh air is nice. I was just thinking about my dad. I haven’t received a letter from him in a while. I hope he knows I’m doing well."

We had never discussed her condition before, but as she got sicker, she seemed to need to share more.

"I want him to come back soon," she continued. "He’s missing my good days. I know my sickness is getting worse, and it hurts to think that by the time he returns, I might not even be able to get out of bed."

"Don’t say that, Sally. The predictions aren’t that bad, and you’re only fourteen. You still have so much time left."

She smiled faintly. "It doesn’t feel like that. But you know, I might be gone before the war even starts." She laughed, looking at me, waiting for me to join. I did—briefly.

As she became sicker, her humor darkened. It was subtle at first, but over time, her mindset shifted. It was strange—she had always been so careful, yet now, through her illness, she had found a kind of peace the rest of us lacked.

"I used to feel like an outsider because of my health," she said. "I could never be as playful as you because I got tired too easily. I was living for others, trying to be like them. But when the rumors of war became reality, something changed. A calmness settled over me, and it hasn’t left since. People started feeling like outsiders, too. They couldn’t experience life the same way anymore."

She looked at me with a piercing gaze. "In a way, all of you became sick."

"Where are you going with this, Sally?"

"Everyone became obsessed with the idea of dying. Everyone started longing for their past lives. But nothing changed for me—I had always feared death. Now, at least, I feel like I stand on higher ground."

"So our pain liberated you?" I asked, emotionless.

"I hate to say it, but what if it did? I feel at peace. My pain isn’t just mine anymore. Everyone can die."

"Everyone can live, too. Would that be so bad?"

"It wouldn’t have been... if people didn’t already act like they were dead."

"What do you want us to do? Celebrate?"

"That’s not what I mean. I just want you to stop pretending."

"Pretending?" The word echoed in my ears, its weight suffocating me. I was speechless.

Years passed. My dear friend was no longer with us. The war never came, but I remained the same—speechless from Sally’s words, yet unable to live according to them.