Never Again

• Matthew Broome, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2014

All I could feel in my chest was the booming of gas bombs. I was scared, shell-shocked. Ducking for cover was the only thing anyone could do. I finally found somewhere safe. Or so I thought. Whistling down from the sky, another bomb fell. Right next to me. Black.

I was forced into this. Everyone was. Forced into this, for what cause? War is useless. War is grotesque. The caitiff war leaders sit in their crystal palaces, looking down on us as if we are replaceable. I want to run. Run far away from this dismal place. I hear screaming. I feel a shiver creep down my spine. My dark black hair stands on its end.

As I awake, I start to take in my surroundings. I can only guess where I am. Then the worst thought comes to me. No Man’s Land. “Why here? Of anywhere!” I think. I look for the closest place to hide. Nowhere. No way out. Fog blocks my already short vision. Fog. Gas. I grasp at my mask, but to no avail. My eyes start to water, and I feel faint. Any clean air that once was here, is now gone. But I kept on trying to get to my mask.

The best moment of my life, to this date, is when I got my mask. As I put it on, gasping for air, the hurting calms. But now it was my vision’s turn to black out. Flailing around on the mud, I hear gunshots. “Oh, great. Just what I need.” I think to myself. I could feel him. Death. Creeping up on me.

My eyes open. Water flows from them, crying from the mud, stuck in them. Crying because I miss my family. A faint but powerful buzz was all I could hear and comprehend. Questions come rushing into my mind. Day. Time. Dead or Alive. Knocked out twice in one day. Must be a record. What was the point of this? Why me?

The burning gas was still fogging my sight. I’m sure Churchill, Stalin, Roosevelt, they were all safe. Leaders? Cowards. Hundreds of soldiers all looking into the abyss. I’ll show them. I took off my mask, and breathed in the poison. Staring at me in the background, the soldiers one by one started to take their masks off too. Now what Churchill? Now what Stalin? Now what Roosevelt? My final, dying wish was that never again will they control us. Never again.