War

• Breah Fitzallen, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2018

Based on the German and Belgium war, during WWI
It was our peoples fault. All their fault that my younger sibling and I have no parents to embrace us when we can hear the bombs outside, the horrible screams that pierced my skull. It was their fault that they didn’t let Germany pass through during WWI, they promised they wouldn’t attack us. They wanted war with Russia, and all I did was loathe our place which was off to the side of three countries. France, Germany, and the Netherlands. We refused to let Germany pass through us to get to France, and now we’re stuck with the aftermath of denial.
17th of August, and it was still lasting. My eyes fluttered open and a soft but deafening ring sounded through my ears, the same one I get every day. Ever since the war, I have gone completely deaf in my left ear. My honey brown eyes scanned the room, to find my younger sister Agnes lying on the floor next to me. She had been crying, tear stains were plastered across her pale skin. My heart sunk to my stomach in complete sadness, I felt oh so horrible. My only current functioning ear scanned and analysed the sounds echoing from all sorts of directions.
With a deep exhale, I sit up with a groan of effort. Wounds scattered my skin like a thick coat of paint, but most were healing. “Agnes… Agnes, wake up.” I mutter underneath my own breath, barely a whisper as I attempt to awake my younger sibling so she regains her consciousness. We need to get moving. With a groan, Agnes wakes up and rolls flat onto her back, her disorganised hair falling past her shoulders in a clump. “Isaac,” She mutters, “I had a nightmare.”
That statement makes my heart sink further into my stomach, my eyebrows knitting together. Agnes has shell shock, meaning continuous nightmares and terrifying anxiety that pulsed through your veins. It has become more common to be infected now, since our exposure to large crowds and unsanitary grounds. Agnes had a physical injury to her nerves, setting it off.
“That’s dreadful, Agnes. They’ll find a cure, they’ll make you better. For now, we need to get moving.” I manage to croak, in an attempt to comfort her. We had been staying in an underground bunker, rats roamed the place like some sort of territory, and we were banned from stepping onto it. Ever since we came in here, I’ve been absolutely petrified of rats crawling across Agnes, seeing as it will send her into another one of her fits. We arise from the ground, and almost instantly, I interlock our fingers and tag her along. I admire my own strength, how I promises I’ll get us out of here.
I know for a fact that we will not.