World War VIII

It is World War VIII. I am writing this from a cave somewhere in Zone 54. Father called it Tasmania.

I am tired. The world is tired. We have turned our sanctuary to ashes, killed the one thing that kept us alive. Soon it will take it's revenge. Soon humanity will be extinct. I can't help but think that it's about time. I wonder if that make me a bad person? I don't have the energy to care.

The few remaining survivors have turned against each other, allies and enemies alike. We don't fight for survival anymore. We fight because it's all we have ever known. My grandma used to tell me stories about how the world used to come together after war and help heal each others wounds. I can't imagine what those people would think looking at our society today.

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

I have taken refuge here for the night. Tomorrow, I will return to battle. This night could be my last. Every night could be.

With a low groan, I settle against the bumpy rock wall. It is freezing but I can't afford to light a fire. Fire is a beacon to both friend and foe. I can't take that chance.

From my spot, I can see a patch of ash red sky peeking out from behind the trees.

"See the sky?"

I nodded my head enthusiastically. "Pretty!"

"Never forget the sky, Peter. Everything is going to change but remember the night sky. It will always be there for you, even if nothing else is."

I used to hate that memory. The sky had never been there for me, not when it really mattered.

My naive nine-year-old self had taken his words to heart.

"What are you doing up here mijo? It's past your bed time."

"Looking at the stars." I turned towards her, my eyes hard. "Well, I would be."

Light pollution had taken away that innocence but I still got to see them when we went camping. They were my connection to my granddad, even when he wasn't around. I knew he was watching over me.

Mum gripped his hand. I could see she didn't want to let go. She was strong. I wasn't. His eyes were moving around the room, searching. I lingered in the doorway. I wasn't brave enough to go in. Sweat slid down my palms. My head pounded. I watched the scene in front of me in horror.

"Peter." He rasped.

Mum looked across the room, locking eyes with me. I didn't move.Betrayal flashed across her face, she didn't even try to hide it. I still didn't move. I couldn't.

My granddad died that day. I ran away the next. Joined the army. Rose through the ranks. Became a well respected commander. I sacrificed everything to get there.

I haven't spoken to my family since. I don't even know if they're alive. It sounds callous but I hope they're dead. They'd be better off dead.

Sometimes I look up at the stars and wonder if granddad can see me. Wonder what he thinks of me now. I'm sure he'd be disappointed.

"Name?"

"John McTyre."

"Name?"

"Steve Tsunumi."

"Name?"

"Peter Elliott."

He pauses and my stomach kamikazes.

"The grandson of that coward Evan Elliott?"

"Yes sir." I maintain eye contact, even as my fists clench hearing his name.

The Sergeant gets in my face. "Why are you here? Come to finish that ****'s work?"

He said a word I will not repeat, even when I know that no one else will read this. It is like poison creeping through my mind to even think it.

"No sir." I stared right back at him. "My grandfather was a coward and an idiot. Peace will not solve anything. I want to fight for my country as much as anyone else here."
His eyes did not waver from my face but I didn't look away. I needed to do this. I needed to prove granddad wrong.

I spent the next six years trying to prove that I was nothing like my granddad. He believed in peace through peace. I believed in peace through war. I had to prove it to my new friends, my new family. I left my old life behind, exchanging it for a new one filled with tears and blood.

A rock digs into my side and I roll over with a sigh. My breathing is the only sound apparent. There aren't any birds left to grace us with their haunting melodies. The silence itself can be a sound, haunting you through day and night. You run from everything but not from the silence. It always catches up.

The hard wooden boards underneath my thin, worn mattress press into my back. My eyes stare into the darkness as I listen to the breathing of the three other army-hopeful young men.

One of them is breathing softly but irregularly, each breath a new beat to a dance only he knew. Kyle, my bunk mate is one of the only people I know with a completly regular breathing pattern. In - one, two, three...out- one, two, three. John grunts in his sleep. Even just hearing the sound makes my heart skip a beat.

That was how my granddad used to breath.

Listening to John breath makes me remember. Remembering is dangerous but I cannot stop myself. I've been so good. Surely just this once won't hurt...

I remember lying in bed, staring up at the stars.
I remember looking up at the enormity of space and realising how very small I was.
I remember looking over and hearing granddad grunt in his sleep. His distinctive breathing calmed me. Made me remember that he was here. That I wasn't alone.

Ever since that night, I've hated silence. I still do but there are some things you have to let go of to survive. Petty hates is one of them. But even still, I feel like I've left apart of me behind.

I'm not proud of what I've done. I can claim it was for survival as much as I like but it doesn't make it any better. Granddad would be so disappointed in me.

He was my role model. He was what I aspired to be. But I was weak. I let our culture influence me.

A boy who grows up in war will only ever know war. That sentence rings bitterly true.

Granddad was 55 when the last war ended. He used to lament about how I had never known peace and made up elaborate stories to tell me about that peaceful time. He studied creative writing at university and always wanted to become an author. I hope that, if he is dead, that he will get to fulfill that dream in whatever comes next. I just hope we aren't reborn back into this world.

My train of thought is interrupted as the sound of gunfire rips through the stillness of the valley. Whole body tensing, I slowly stand and move towards the mouth of the cave. The tranquil serenity of my refuge has been shattered. It's time to rejoin the endless war.