Sacrifices

• Adam Fowler, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2017

My shack. My thoughts. Myself. It was all I had, the war had, like so many others, devastated me. My family lying in the grave outside, while I rocked back and forth with a heart that barely worked. My job, swept away like the wind roaring outside. People say the war is harsh, but they have not been in it. My Comrades, distant memories. One bullet, one life gone. I know they say mourning is a bad thing, but when it's the only thing to do, it becomes hard to avoid it. The wind is getting louder, it's becoming harder to ignore, normally it’s just a side factor. My ears have grown resistant to it, but it is louder this time. But then, I see what is causing it, even through dusty windows you can tell when there's a tornado coming. It's not close, but it is faster than me, I have to move.
A rusty revolver by my side, my can in my hand and my pictures in my bag. I set out, mud from the recent storm has built up, as far as I can see. I abandon the walking stick, if the war has taught me anything, it's that mud is sticky, slowly pushing my way through the mud when I see a face. A face I haven't seen in years, a face that should be dead, my daughter.
She's too close to the tornado, I see her running, she was never very athletic, I have to do something. The mud plasters her back after, pile and pile gets flung from the tornado. I indicate and shout to run to the side, out of its path, but her hair, obscuring her eyes and the wind deafening her. I have to save her. A father's duty. It's slowly gaining on her, I turn around and run towards her, my legs, not used to this physical strain, roar in pain. She hasn't noticed me yet, I leap, my entire body giving up as I launch myself, I made contact, shove her out of the way, I think she notices that it's me, our eyes meet and I get flung up. Black. Dying satisfied that I saved the last member of my family.