Creative Writing Collection

The Phoenix's Civil War

       The president had been dead for long time already, but the war in the small place continued nonetheless. The rebels were outnumbered 1 to 5, but they fought harder with relentless passion. Swords, guns, knives, bombs; everyone and everything has gathered for this. There were only five rebels left after three months of battle, facing the last enemy batch of 53 soldiers. Terrain obliterated, they went off in twos — one wished to set out alone — to complete their task. This goal, set long ago in the hearts of many; destroy the system.

       Shots were fired and the sound of dropping bodies followed, the shooters taking the guns of the fallen right after.it was decided, long before the war started, that they’d die together, that one cannot live without the other. As Moe began to slowly bleed out of existence, Tatiana killed them both. At least they helped thin the enemy army to 21 remaining soldiers.

       Nicolas was the 3rd to die. His reaction time and comprehension of the situation lagged; the bombing made him deaf, blinded by the gasses used by his own side. He was then gunned down by six bullets, one for each man he killed. The odds were against them, now, with Anika and Kaleb as the last of the rebels.

       There were still 15 men left. The duo his behind an assembled pile of the dead, their backs stained with blood that still leaked out. They took turns looking behind the wall of flesh, shooting at those they spotted. One less to go. Sight, shoot, thirteen left. The numbers dwindled down to four, but it was still anyone’s victory. They could practically taste the freedom — or, perhaps it was the taste of blood in their mouths. The taste of multiracial blood, spilled on American soil; wasn’t this what America stood for?

       Anika grinned excitedly at her partner as another soldier was picked off. Two left. Two left on both sides. “Do you think we’d be able to help all of the states?” she asked, Kaleb shrugging with a similar ear-to-ear smile. “Dunno, maybe!”

       She was about to ask something else before a bullet shot through her throat, blood gurgling through and chocking her. She struggled and shuttered for moments before becoming limp at another bullet to the chest, springs of scarlet ribbon flowing from the holes. Kaleb was stunned. Infuriated, hurt, pained, distraught. Enraged.

       Gritting his teeth, he stood up quickly and fired at the two slivers of peeking skulls, then shooting repeatedly at the bodies that stumbled forth. He breathed heavily, letting his heart slow itself down. He did it. He really did it. 329 rebels against about 1000 government soldiers. This battle was won. But Kaleb felt no victory. Everyone was gone. Everyone was dead. He was the only one left. And he carried the burning burden of accomplishing the impossible one town, one city, one state at a time.