Last Moments Of War
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Sophia Zarate, Grade 10
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Short Story
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2011
“You go first.”
“No, you.”
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'Oh god no. This could not be happening. Stuff like this only happened in stories, the really bad, god-this-makes-me-want-to-scream-and-squirm, scare-me-shitless stories. It’s official; life sucks.'
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I can practically hear the thoughts that run through her mind during the last hour of our lives (or at least probably, I’m no mind-reader.) I am composed, fearless and accepting of this fate. On the other hand there is Sarah… Sarah, who is currently doing her best to not absolutely massacre my eardrums – she’s managed to tone it down to crippled for life status. Oh wait, no; she’s stopped. (If I had to choose massacre would be better, it means my ears will be crushed sooner rather than later.)
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I look around; there are millions of them, simply millions. I can even see some hanging from the ceilings, hiding in cracks in the wall, they’re everywhere. They are staring at us. An attempt to intimidate us with their numbers perhaps? They may have greater numbers and debilitating poisons but I have the tide-turning AoE attack (stands for Area of Effect, I play too many games). They will fall. I will not. Now die intruders!
This will be the last stand. I rush at the hordes with a battle cry that rends the flesh from my throat. The enemy attacks from all angles. They may have superior numbers but my weapons reign supreme – or not considering I just ran out of ammunition. Brute force will have to do. Bodies are reduced to puddles of blood and legs fly everywhere. Sarah claims I’m ‘scary’ whenever I get like this. I can’t help it, the glory of the battlefield sings to me. I am a defender, one who bloodies their hands for others. (Sarah would like the sentence purely because it rhymes.)
Not one stirs. I am content. All invaders have been successfully repelled with no mercy. Considering it’s just me and Sarah there is no need to search for survivors. (Why did I bring Sarah along anyway? Oh right, she invited me.) A tad messy perhaps but it couldn’t be helped. We can return victorious.
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'Ew. That was just disgusting. I mean, seriously, those last five minutes were plain vile… Oh my god… I have blood and bits of god-knows-what in my hair. This is not happening! It can not happen outside stories, the ‘squicky’, I-need-to-throw-up-somewhere, I-am-in-need-of-brain-bleach stories. Life got marginally better; now it sucks again.'
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I bet I can guess what Sarah’s thinking. I am still composed, ready and fearless. I have conquered the Ghastly Many-Legged Beings of Under-the-House. Oh no... Is that? It is isn’t it? Sarah’s going to scream. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. My ears are pleading for surrender. (I think her scream has reached a new level: war, complete with necessary pillaging, torching and such.) Oh well. That’s what she gets for volunteering me to help clear the cellar of spiders. At least that’s another fifty dollars for the computer games fund.
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“I’m showering first!”
“Cheater!”