Can You...?

• Makayla Jarc-Birch, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2018

Can you hear it? The deafening roar of the ever-present, over-arching bombs; raining down on the town. Like a kaleidoscope of dark colours; painting a picture of ruthless destruction. Can you smell it? The grungy gas and suffocating smoke. Desolating once lively, bright cities to dark, charred ruins. Can you feel it? The vibration of heavy boots marching solemnly, sore legs caked in knee-high mud. Can you feel the ragged soldiers’ hearts, beating as one for their chaotic country? Can you see the smog closing in - light making way for heathen darkness to overtake? The desperate people running for their lives, hiding, silenced by oppressive black. Their eyes wide at the sound of every small step and of every dog bark. Can you hear the enslaved peoples’ silenced cries, smell their tattered clothes, feel their pounding hearts; can you see their starved bodies?
Can you understand? No, you cannot scarcely understand. You have seen the senseless destruction - the desolation and still you continue to destroy. You hear the peoples’ cries for peace and still you proclaim war. You have said “war is peace”, but you have lied. There is nothing peaceful about forcibly sending 18 year old men on a suicide mission. There is nothing peaceful about having to sleep with one eye open - your raw, blood-stained hand on your weapon, praying this would be over. There is nothing peaceful about seeing your best friend shot before your shallow eyes again and again each time you blink; screaming out to everyone you have lost even when you know they aren’t there. There isn’t peace in knowing that if you had been five critical minutes later, or if he would have just ducked… No, you do not understand. This is war not peace.
Can you imagine? Imagine the excitement of seeing the posters and finding out your country needs you. ‘I want you!’ They say assertively. Imagine voluntarily abandoning your beautiful wife, your precious children and the comfort of your home; only to be recruited into a sugar-coated lie called the army. Imagine living every day not knowing if you are going to live long enough to see your children’s first steps, or their first day of school. Are you imagining? Imagine knowing your chaotic life is now a game of chess. You are a pawn; first to move, first to die. While all your leaders stay satisfied and secure, you are fighting for them – and they are controlling you.
Can you hope? Hope is what soldiers feed off of. It is our source of energy. Hope that we could start our life afresh. We hope that you may see our tears, hear our cries, smell our bloody clothes, feel our pain; and change your ways. We hope that you may understand us, and that you could imagine our lives. We hope that war would be over.
Can you hope it too?