1940

TW: War

(May not all be historically accurate) 

More explosions. The noises burst into life. They creep inside me penetrating every bit of my body. I wanted so badly to tear off my ears and let them bleed.

Terrified screaming coming from every corner of our smoldering town. Wreckage everywhere. I don't have to see, but I know behind me our house is crumbling and I'm too afraid to look back.

And where's Papa? And Mama and Simon? I can't find them.

"Simon!" Tears well up in my eyes. I can't find him. Smoke and dust cloud my eyes I start to cough and can't stop.

Strong arms grab me right as an explosion goes off, the noise is deafening. I scream and try to wriggle free from my captor, but I don't make any progress.

"Liam! Liam, it's me calm down." It’s Simon. Thank you, god. His slacks are scorched and ripped jaggedly in some places. His usually blond hair is coated in ash. He glimpses up into the sky at the black planes with a hatred I've never seen in my brother.

"Mama..." I choke. "Papa? Where-"

Simon looks back down at me, his eyes softening and then beginning to shine with tears.

I can feel the air draining from my lungs and I start to hyperventilate and desperately try to crawl free from Simon. 

"Liam?" Simon crouches down and leans me against his knee. I start to choke and then sob. Simon grips me tighter in his arms, shaking. Then he gently takes something out of his pocket and slips it into my hand.

I open my eyes slightly to see it's Simon’s gold pocket watch. Of course, it's not real gold. If our family were to buy real gold we would have to sell everything we had.

But it's gold-colored, anyway. Simon bought it from the Jeweler with the money he earned from working at the drugstore. He'd take the golden thing out every night and rock back and forward with it listening to the 'tick, tick, tick,' that always echoed from its steady clockwork. Papa touched this about a thousand times. I can feel his warm hands clasping it now.

I squeeze my eyes tighter and clutch the pocket watch to my chest.

Simon holds me and we stand there for a minute before yet another explosion bursts into life way too close for comfort.

Simon picks me up swiftly and dashes away. Many months before, we built several bunkers in case of emergency. The bunker comes into sight. It's halfway built into a hill. The doors are thrust open, and people are pouring inside.

Someone is by the door. It's Mr. Hedge. I'm friends with one of his sons, but other than that, to me he's just a grown-up.

"Simon, Liam!" Mr. Hedge looks us up and down for injuries. "Either of you boys hurt?"

"No . . we're okay." Simon tightens his grip on my hand.

"Quickly, get inside." Mr. Hedge stepped aside to let us through.

I expected it to be dark and cold in the bunker, and it is. But there are little lights that flicker on and off regularly and a rack of bedding mainly consisting of thin sleeping bags. There isn't much else than that. Simon grabs two of the least worn sleeping bags and lays them out.

That night we all sit around with a can of cold beans. There is a selection of beans from which to choose but they're all the same to me. Honestly, it's not all that much different from what we regularly eat. 

Simon looks at me and says, "Liam, you should eat." But I can see he hasn't touched his can either.

"Why are they doing this?" I whisper staring at the ground.

"Doing what?"

"Hurting people?"

Simon looks at me. Then sighs. Then lays down. I lay down next to him in my sleeping bag and stared at him. I know I'm not supposed to stare. But my parents aren't there to tell me not to. 

"Because they're trying to prove a point."

"What point?"

"That they're more powerful.”

"So we disagreed with them and now they're angry?"

"We did some other things to make them angry."

"But I never hurt anyone?"

"No, you didn't." Simon agrees. "It's the leader of the country that gets arguing with other leaders. Next thing you know, we're in a war." He shook his head. "According to them, we're just too different."

"Why don't we stop?"

"Because we don't want to back down. We're trying to get better. Okay? And everything is going turn out the way God thinks it should."

I'm used to falling asleep to the sound of Simon's heavy breathing, but he stays quiet, awake, and alert.

The next morning Simon left to go look for our parents with others of his age. The bodies they did find, they brought back and we had a service for each one. We didn't find mama or papa but I was sort of glad about that. I'm not sure I could have handled it.

My mother had a saying. She said hard things would come up in life, and no matter what you did you couldn’t stop them. When they did she always told us, “Sometimes, people take crisis as an opportunity to turn hard or soft. Some of us are potatoes, and some of us are eggs. When you boil an egg what happens? It get harder. What happens when you boil a potato? It get softer. Both are good. People are not bad if they are hard, but it's up to you. Do ya wanna be a soft thing or a hard thing?

Always after, she would laugh and hand us each a boiled potato. We both liked potatoes better and she knew that and often used them to make her point. 

It's been years since the incident and now I have a small daughter I love with all my heart. I miss my parents, but they aren't a part of my life anymore. 

And that's okay. 

-Liam Havitch