Unexpected Battles

• Emily Andrade, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2016

My dad, he was a hero.
For many years, he fought endless battles. Sometimes he was gone for so long, I forgot what his voice even sounded like. Days like these were never my favourite, and I cried, I cried for so many hours, but no amount of crying ever changed anything. My friends at school acted as if I was fragile, like a thin glass doll that could break at any time, at any moment. At first I didn’t care, all the sympathetic looks that people would give me, never bothered me, but after a while, it became rather frustrating. I didn’t want their gloomy faces or depressing conversations. I wanted my dad.
It’s been about four years since it’s rained. The last time water ever fell on these deserted plains was the day my father fought his first battle. Ever since then, we have become a dry wasteland that nobody wants. Today looked pretty grim, though I doubt a drop will even fall. The weather likes to manipulate us over and over, tricking us into thinking that things will change. That’s a lie. All of it, is a lie. I hated the world, but not because of the fauna and flora, no, I hated the people in it. What good does any person actually bring to this broken world? No one can help my dad, they like to make you think they can, but fun fact, that’s another lie. My dad, he was a brave man. He taught me to be strong, to have courage, to never give up. I’ve learnt many things from him. Sometimes when I sleep, I dream about the times of when I was a child, before the wars. My family were together, they were smiling, they were happy, they were safe. However, sometimes I would have nightmares, and there would be screaming, and there would be death, and when I woke up from these horrid visions, they wouldn’t go away. My dreams did, but not the nightmares. By now I have gotten use to the things that haunt me every now and then. Although, I didn’t expect this nightmare to become real at all. My dad, a fallen victim to the raging battles that plague this world. The type that no one can cure. I stood next to my father’s bed, as he lay dying. There was absolutely nothing I could do about it, all I could do was smile. My father could barely open his eyes, the cancer finally taking control, destroying everything in its wake. I remained emotionless, letting out a breath that I didn’t even know that I was holding in. My father’s hand slipped from mine, falling into an eternal slumber. It was like he had fought for nothing, all those days in and out of the hospital. But I realized that’s also another lie. My dad, he was a fighter.
As I thought this, an unfamiliar sound echoed throughout the room.
It was the soft patter of rain.