"Jesus, Alberto. You look like you've been tortured."
"Thank you, I was."
Five Hargreeves x Male Oc
𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐙, at 15, was forced to evacuate his small village in Mexico with his younger siblings, Daniella and Hector Ruiz. Minutes befor...
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It's been a week since the explosion. A lot has happened since then; more bombs have been dropping. Larger ones this time, instead of being able to take down one house, that can take down a whole block. Because of that, the hospital has become a safe place for families to stay. Also, remember how my sister said my dad was "fine." So, that was a lie. Well, he was doing fine until his heart stopped. They say it was because the fire burned his lungs. I say it was because of the alcohol.
So it's official, my dad's dead. I didn't know how to feel, to be honest. A part of me couldn't care less, and the other part felt terrible. But not for my dad, for my mom and siblings. They were upset and couldn't believe he was gone. Hector and Daniella would start crying in the middle of the night, so I would wake up and comfort them.
On the other hand, my mom acted like it didn't happen. She went on like everything was fine. I think it was her way of trying to be strong, but she has three kids and can't afford to break down right now.
Under the hospital, there is a bomb shelter. That's where everyone is staying for the time being. It's boring down here. Nothing to do. But it's better than being up there with bombs. The good thing down here is a small red radio in the corner of the room. It doesn't play music; it only streams updates about the bombs in English. I don't understand English, so my mom has to translate everything for me.
English is a confusing language for me. The words look and sound weird. Sometimes they'll add an extra letter to any word and then don't pronounce it when they say it. My school has tried to teach me English before, but I gave up when I couldn't pronounce "hi." (Yes, I couldn't pronounce a word that was two letters. It wasn't easy.) Now I wish I kept trying so I could understand what they're saying over the radio.
My wound has gotta better. I had to get three stitches which hurt severely. My mom has been taking care of it for the past week. The doctor told me that since it was a deep cut, it would take longer to heal and only two more days until I could take it out. Having stitches sucks; it makes it very hard to take a shower. So I've had to take baths. I don't like baths; you're sitting in your filth.
Living in a bomb shelter sucks; I must share a bed with my siblings. But I mostly end up sleeping on the floor. It's more comfortable anyways, except when people step over you in the middle of the next. I wish I were home right now, lying in my bed. I miss my bed. But home is gone now. So, this is my life until this war thing is over.
Fuck the Americans.
"Alberto, ven aquí," My mom said. There was a crowd of people in the corner where the radio was. I walk over and stand next to my mom. The guy over the radio started saying something, but I couldn't understand him.
