Fatherless

• Micah Graham, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2015

Mother busted into the room, “Carolyn we got another one!”
She ran forward and set a body on a table “What’s the damage?”
“Bullet wound, in the leg.”
I rushed to the closet. Leg wound, so that’s tweezers, bandages and…. What else? Oh yeah, painkillers in case he woke up.
I ran over to the body and reached the tweezers into the bullet wound, pulling out a small piece of metal. It’s strange to think these tiny things could cause so many deaths. My mother quickly put the bandage over the wound, no antiseptic; we had run out weeks ago, we just had to put the bandage on and hope to any god we could find it wouldn’t get infected.
“Find somewhere to put him.” My mother looked me in the eye, “Look after him, okay?”
I nodded and carried him to another room where about ten people lay down on blood soaked beds. Our other patients, God save them all. Six men had died only a week ago, they woke up only to fall asleep again five minutes later, and then they only dreamed of heaven or hell.
I always wondered if they had families, there might be six wives who lost husbands and who knows how many children who had lost a father, I know what it’s like, losing a father, for mine had fallen asleep on one of those beds three years ago.
I remember Mother crying over him, arms spreading around his body. I’d taught myself not to think about death, it happened every day just in the next room. But Father’s death was different to the rest; I remember crying for hours on end, just me and Mother. No words. Just tears.
Mother came in and checked the men on the beds, four were dead and two needed amputations. Only one in ten people usually survived, the rest were just sent back to fatherless families for burial. I walked to the other room and mother handed me a small box of rations, I couldn’t tell you what was in it, by now it all just tasted the same, bland and tasteless.
Suddenly a sound came from outside, a large boom spread through the room. They were shelling us, we were lucky we had never been hit by one before, once one exploded right next to me, just far enough away not to hurt me. The ringing in my ears didn’t stop for days and it took months to regain my hearing.
Everyone conscious got under something, me under a table, Mother on my right and a patient on my left. We sat there for hours, with each explosion the patient’s whimpers grew louder, until he screamed.
Staring at the door with a handgun aimed, a figure walked inside and I pulled the trigger. The body fell to the floor and I reflected upon it, there was one more fatherless family, and it was created by me.
But I guess you can’t save everyone.