Black Dove (Watty Awards 2012)

Chapter Two

            Two days later, I sit across from Kane in History class. He gives me the classic smile, and I swear four girls on all sides of me swoon. I nod back at him, and my desk mate, Marie Ellen, gives me an ‘are you crazy’ kind of look. I shrug at her, just as our teacher, Marcus Delano, climbs the podium to teach.

            The room we’re in is dark and dank. It is the bomb shelter for the camp. I guess the reasoning is that if a bomb goes off nearby, we will already be in the bunker. I’ve been taking my classes here for eight months, and every day it disgusts me. The dripping pipes that sometimes drop their noxious smelling “water” on you. The spiders and rats that crawl around in the corners of the room. As soon as I leave class for the day, I usually try to beeline it for the shower stalls, hoping to get there before they fill up.

“Good morning, children”

            “Good morning, Marcus.” The rest of the class says obediently.

            “Today’s lesson is going to be political history. Please open your books to page 54.” I know this is a joke, half the kids in the class don’t even have books. I move closer to Marie Ellen, who has the book, and lean in to read the small cramped writing. Marcus begins the class. I listen dully, for I have heard it several times before. The story of how our world fell apart.

            The world, Marcus says, used to be separated up into countries, and each country had a leader. There were some wars, but mostly, people were safe. And then catastrophe struck. A major earth quake around the Pacific Ring of Fire ruptured many cities beyond repair, and floods from tsunamis took out many other countries. Countries that had been displaced fought for a place to be, but everything was chaos. Countries attacked other countries with abandon; the fragile hold on peace was destroyed. And now we are in the middle of it. The wars, the fighting, different factions and countries trying to be the only ones left. I felt like rolling my eyes. We knew this story. This was our story. Why we have no homes, why many of us have lost family members and suddenly I’m choking. I don’t want to hear any more. I want to run from the room and hide somewhere, die somewhere.

            Marie Ellen notices and scoots away from me. She doesn’t want to be in the middle of any major freak out I’m about to have. That jolts me. I have to keep it together. I close my eyes and repeat my mantra: My name is Avalynne Southwood. I have no family. Only guilt. And I still have to hold on, to avenge Jace. My mind clears. I notice that everyone in the greasy room is looking nervously at me. I give a half smile, hoping they’ll return to their lesson.

            “Are you alright, Southwood?” Marcus asks, a worried look on his face.

            I nod quickly.

~ ~ ~

            That night, I lie awake. The crushing load of memories seems to choke off my air. As I finally close my eyes, I am ten again. At the other refugee camp. I walked into Jace the day after we arrived, to where he lay in the medical tent. He was lucky, to get away with only a few burns. Some of the others in the tent hardly look human from their injuries. I sat beside him and talked with him for a few minutes. He said that we were moving soon, that this was just an emergency camp and as soon as he’s better we are to go to a more permanent camp. I nodded dully, but squeeze his hand hard. I knew that, no matter what, Jace would now always be there for me. He would watch out for me. He would never go away like my mother and father did.

            A few days later, his prediction comes true. He is considered well enough to be moved to the permanent camp, and we are given directions to a large central camp, which lodges many of the nation’s refugees. As we drive away in a large, rickety bus, I see Jace’s recently vacated cot filled with yet another wounded person.