War Camp

• Noah Ruta, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2016

Sebastian absolutely hated his life. Made to join the army recruits at 16, put through intense training drills each and every day. There was absolutely nothing good about it. He had only one friend at this camp, an older boy called Christian, he was around 17 and probably hated this camp more than Seb did. One foggy Saturday, at around 1 in the morning, the young recruit heard the raid siren, a piercing bell that rang all throughout the desolate wasteland of the training grounds. Seb had no clue as to what was happening, he had never been in a raid before, practice or otherwise. He hopped out of bed and opened the door to his cabin. He stepped outside and looked around, but the thick of the fog prevented him from seeing anything clearly. Then, he felt his chest tighten, and he fell onto the cold, damp ground, just outside of his door. He knelt up and then, he doubled over in a violent coughing fit. He put his pathetic t-shirt over his mouth, and, after a short while, the coughing ceased. He racked his brains, trying to figure a solution to why he had started coughing. He had come up with two possible explanations. Either it just happened to him, out of pure chance and bad luck or he removed his shirt from his face and took a quick breath. It happened instantly, he began to double over and he coughed. He recovered his mouth with his shirt and thought to himself, ‘Ok then, option two it is.’ He just stood where he was for a while, a cold wind blowing. He began to wonder two things; ‘Why had no one else heard the siren and why he wasn’t panicking?’ He dismissed both thoughts and ran back inside. He grabbed a gas mask, (why it was in his cabin, he had no idea) and a semi-automatic rifle (again, he had no idea why it was in his room). He walked out of his cabin, and, without thinking, plunged into the dark unknown.