Short stories +++

The War

There were bombs everywhere and the entire earth lay in ruins. A little boy was hidden behind half a wall. He watched the flames, the smoke, the people. The sky was filled with black fumes and smoke. The sun was forgotten, no longer existed. Only heavy clouds filled the space above him. If only there existed a little sapling of hope…

The boy heard a scream, knew who’s it was. Pressed himself against the wall. Didn’t want to let go, couldn’t. The screams came closer, the sky grew darker, the hope became smaller. Heavy boots marched over the brown dust. The wall seemed smaller, as though it was the beach being eaten by the angry and burning waves.

The shots, the screams, the stamping, they were like the drums pulling the boy towards hell. They kept drumming, louder and louder, closer and closer, more and more deadly. The boy clenched his bloody hands over his ears. Didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know.

Heard the voices: run. Didn’t want to, didn’t dare, couldn’t. Run!

No, wasn’t safe, wasn’t right.

RUN!

The sky closed in on him too fast. But it wasn’t the sky, it was a man. Just a man. No, not a man. A thing. Deadly. Bony, rugged, ruined. Deadly. Hissing, burning, screaming. Death.

Death was everywhere. The boy could see him, clung to It, had to protect It. Death couldn’t find It. Mustn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t. It wasn’t safe. The boy had to leave. Get away. Couldn’t stay here, couldn’t let death find It. It meant everything, It had to be protected, It had to be safe. But it wasn’t safe.

It had to become safe.

The boy ran. Clawed his way through the sea of depression and death. Clung to It, couldn’t let go, wouldn’t, mustn’t… Everything was dark. Everything was dust, earth and blood. Sweat, bombs and smoke. The smell was wrong. Like petrichor: the smell of dust after rain. No, heavier. More like iron. Bloodier. Petrichor, no longer the smell of dust after rain. Not rain, blood. Petrichor had become the smell of blood after destruction.

The smoke followed him. The flames hunted the exhausted feet. Death waited. Knew the boy couldn’t stand it much longer. Knew that he could soon call the boy to him. Claim him as his own, charm him and love him. The boy was going to love him, must love him. The boy who soon would belong to him. Soon… Not long now. Just had to be patient. Just a little longer and he’ll belong to me. Mine. I’ll lead him to me, bind him in my web. Suck the life and happiness out of him, leave nothing but desperation. Mine! And when he’s ready, he’ll come to me. Mine. Patience. Just a little longer. Not long to wait now. Wait…

A shot rang out. One lone shot. A whiplash that shook the entire world’s soul. Everything was still. Completely still. The waves froze, the white foam like cold snow covering them. Just a lone boat made them move, sailing over the flames. Became the flames. A boat that dragged itself slowly forward. Supposed to fetch a little boy, help him home, bring him. Pull him screaming and struggling to death. Drag him over cold fire and saw through his heart. Cut him up and destroy him completely. Burn him. A boat that dragged itself slowly forward. Almost there. Not long to wait now…

A shot rang out. One lone shot. A whiplash that shook the entire world’s soul. Everything was still. Completely still. Except the boy. A child’s hand that had been clutching, became slack. The eyes that earlier had been filled with fear, now clear and blank. A little body fell towards the hard, heavy earth.

A sapling tumbled onto the battlefield. The last hope, the only saviour. All alone. The boy could no longer protect It. It was almost within the reach of death, almost gone. The boy that had been protecting it, could no longer run, it was too late. Too dark. Everything was dark. The sky, the hope, the worn boots stamping. The boots that destroyed everything.

A small sapling of hope lay alone in the middle of the war. Heavy boots stamped around It. Crushed It as the last hope died.