“Hey, how're you doin'?”
Jack Carmackle yawned out loudly and then stared at the person who was knocking on his door. It was six in the morning, and it was also Sunday, and normally you didn't go round knocking on other peoples' door at six AM on Sunday.
“Tell me, Carmack, what the fuck do you think you are doing? Can't you see how early it is?” Jack replied angrily to his best friend, Carmack Greggins.
This was very odd. Carmack wasn't known for waking up on Sunday mornings.
And then Jack realised that something was wrong. There was a dazed look on Carmack's face, as though he was starting to go mad from seeing things.
“Carmack, what's wrong?” Jack said, now wide awake.
His friend looked at him and a small, faint smile crept across his face. His voice was quite and soft.
“Sorry to tell you this mate, but we only got five minutes to live.”
******** ********
Of all things in the twenty-first century, war is the most interesting and cruel things of all of them.
One can tell this because when war has arisen, not even a healthy conscience can stop the death of innocent lives that could of most certainly have been avoided.
In the twenty-first century, technology has become more cruel than helpful. You could always tell this because of big nations like The Alliance and such are always researching new ways to kill people. This seems to be the case, as now a seemingly neutral country has just been attacked by none other than the Great Country of Freedom itself.
As most of you could guess, a neutral country has just had a Nuclear Warhead launched on it by The Alliance, because their Great Leader deemed it fit to eliminate all 'uncertain factors' in this war.
Jack Carmackle has just been informed of his impending doom, and now with that, let the story continue...
******** ********
“What! That's impossible! How can that be!?” Jack shouted as suddenly there was a loud roar outside. He pushed his friend out of the way and saw the thick stream of oily black smoke across the sky. The rocket emitting the smoke was streaking across the sky with blazing speeds.
“Jack, I just wanna tell you one thing. You know, it was always Cindy that I liked. It wasn't Mary,” Carmack said in confession.
“Yeah, well, it was always Mary for me. Never was Cindy,” Jack said.
His death was coming, and he knew it. Jack couldn't avoid it.
The sky lit up as the warhead exploded off in the far distance. A mushroom cloud rose into the air, but because of its distance, it was rather small. He could feel the ground trembling underneath and the glasses in his kitchen falling and shattering.
“Always knew it, should've just given it to her, that ring,” Carmack said.
Jack didn't even reply. The whooshing sound of the shock wave was already approaching.
His doom was certain, and it was coming because they were an 'uncertainty'.
******** ********
Crea was one of the only children to feel the full effect of the war. She was born as a defective child, having being affected by the Chemical- and Viral-Weapons that had been used against the world. She was shorter than most other girls her age, which was understandable. She had fresh blue eyes, and long jet-black hair. Her face was rounded, showing her gentle nature.
Though innocent as she may look, one must not forget about the hidden details. Crea was destined to go through something that many more able-bodied people would consider quite literally impossible.
Forever shall we remember the lives of the soldiers that gave their lives to bring the world to peace once more.
******** ********
Crea stood at the door to the children's home, her left arm in a cast and sling. She didn't want to enter, for fear of what Miss Harkin would say.
She had just been dropped off from the hospital for the third time in two weeks. The first she cut herself, and it wouldn't stop bleeding, the second she fell and hit her head, and now she had just broken her arm.
The door opened anyway, and there stood Mistress Harkin, her high cheekbones only adding to her firm look.
“Crea, why do you do this to yourself?” Miss Harkin enquired in a stern tone.
“S – s – sor – sorry, miss,” Crea stuttered.
That was another thing that was always seemed wrong with Crea alongside her frail body. She always seemed to stutter. She couldn't explain it no more than she could explain the way Mistress Harkin scolded everyone for doing seemingly innocent things.
“Well, inside you get. We mustn't dawdle out in the snow for too long, or we might just catch a cold. Come on, inside!” she said, again firmly.
“Y – y – yes, m – miss.”
Inside was her office, which also just happened to also be the front entrance. Mistress Harkin had always thought it a good idea to mix the two. It was her ‘Front Office’.
She went back to her room. It was occupied by nothing but herself and her belongings. None of the other girls in the children’s home really liked her. Crea didn’t know why exactly but had a suspicion that it had something to do with the fact that she was the only one who could stand outside without getting sunburnt.
It was one of those things. The area that the children’s home was in had been hit by a nuclear missile a few years back, affecting the weather. And because of that, it always snowed. It snowed in that area all year round, no matter what. Another thing was that if you stood out in the sun too long, you would get sunburnt, for some unusual reason.
She turned around and opened the cupboard. It was empty except for three of the shelves. The first had all of her tops, the other had all of her dresses and pants and the last was for her underwear.
She reached into the third shelf with her right hand and felt around for a moment. When she brought it out she held a single empty bullet casing attached to a piece of string that acted like a necklace.
The door opened and Crea threw the necklace back into the cupboard hurriedly and closed the door. She looked to see one of the older girls standing there.
“Poor old Crea broke her arm again,” the girl said in a mocking tone.
“L – l – le – leave m – me alone,” Crea said, trying her best not to stutter.
“P – p – poor little C – Crea, stuttering like that. You should go to the circus, you freak,” said another girl, who had also just walked in.
“I – I – I d – don’t want you t – two in here,” Crea said, “T – this is m – m - my r – room.”
The two burst out laughing. They were one of the many who got kicks out of teasing her. If only they realised what they were doing. There was only one place where she could get solitude, and that was outside. Most of the other girls were too scared to go outside, as the last one that had stayed out for more that eight hours started to form blisters on her face. She still had the scars where her skin had started to boil.
Crea made a run for it; she tried to push past the two, but they caught her roughly, not caring about her arm.
“Whoa, you’re not getting away from us. You just sit nice and tightly,” one of them said. Crea was dragged and forced down onto her small bed. She somehow managed to bite back the scream from her arm busy doing something it shouldn’t.
“We must punish you for being a bad girl,” the first one said, an evil grin spreading across her face. She sat down next to Crea.
“Yes, you’ve been a bad girl,” the other said. She had chosen to stand.
Crea looked around desperately in search for anything that could help her escape. She didn’t want to scream. Her voice wouldn’t handle it and she wouldn’t be able to talk for at least two weeks.
She saw the window. It was half-open, and knowing the windows in this house, it would break easily.
“So, what should we do first?” the girl who was standing enquired.
“P – p – please l – leave me al – lone,” Crea said, trying her best not to let tears show. Her arm was starting to go numb from pain.
“P – p – please shut up,” said the one sitting, mocking her stuttering again.
Crea had no choice. She made a run for it again, this time, charging at the window. She somehow managed to wrench her arm free from the girl and plummeted through the window. She screamed as it sliced her face and body.
“What are you doing, you bitch?” the one shouted. Crea didn’t care. She had escaped from them. She sat on the ground, her blood staining the snow bright red. Her right eye was closed; the eyelid had also been cut.
She slumped and fell, now lying in the blood-stained snow, busy whimpering quietly from the pain.
“W – why d – do you have to d – do th – th – that?” she said, this time her stuttering mainly the effect of her whimpering.
******** ********
“Well, if it weren’t for your condition, then you would’ve been fine within two weeks, and not even a scar to show.”
Crea sat on the bed inside of the hospital. She looked blankly out of the window at the slowly falling snow. Her arm was in a new sling and practically her whole body was covered in bandages. There was one long one across her face, as one of the shards of glass had sliced right across it; from the top right corner to the bottom left.
“But unfortunately, we must understand that you will always have scars to show. No amount of Bio-Therapy will heal those scars,” the doctor said again.
“I u – understand,” Crea said solemnly. She looked at the doctor. “W – w – will I e – ever b – be a – able to l – live normally?” she questioned.
“I’m sure one day that you’ll find somewhere where you can live you days happily,” he said with a kind smile.
After that Crea was picked up by Miss Harkin and taken back to the Children’s home. It was a small and peaceful place that was only occupied by girls. There were hardly any boys left for a while. During the war, all boys had to go and fight. And even some girls. Any able people from the age of sometimes even thirteen were sent to fight. It was a twisted fact. Twisted and true; the war had destroyed almost all of the world’s resources. The only thing keeping everything from collapsing was the martial law used to keep everyone in check.
“Well, I talked to those two. They won’t do it again,” Miss Harkin said as she drove her eyes firmly on the road.
“It’s n – not g – going to work,” Crea said sullenly, “They’ll c – come b – b – back. T – They’ll c – come back a – and t – teach me a – a les – lesson,” Crea said.
“What makes you say that?” Miss Harkin said, her voice touched with an edge of curiosity.
Crea decided to remain silent. It was torture enough that she had to talk like this. She didn’t like talking, it was humiliating.
Eventually they arrived back at the Children’s home. The two walked back into the front-office in silence.
“I’ll talk to the other girls. Just go back to your room, and lock your door,” Miss Harkin said. Crea obliged without question. She returned to her room, if not hastily, and locked her door with the key Miss Harkin had given her. She went and lay tenderly on her bed. She then started to cry into her pillow.
“W – w – why?” she cried, “W – why m – me? I d – didn’t a – ask for this.”
She cried herself to sleep.
******** ********
There was an incessant knocking at the door. Crea tried to ignore it, but it just wouldn’t stop.
“Wh – who is i – it?” Crea inquired after some time. There was no reply, only this time whoever it was tried at the door handle. Crea got up slowly from her bed, and looked through the keyhole of the door. She had a hard time seeing who it was, but it definitely wasn’t any of the other girls, or Miss Harkin. It was someone wearing a fashionable black suit.
Crea didn’t know what to do. She knew that they didn’t mean any good, but then again, what was she suppose to do? Whimper her way out of the situation? She looked around the room, panicking. She went to her cupboard, and retrieved her necklace just as the intruders started to try and ram the door open. The doors, like the windows, would break easily. She didn’t have much time.
She grabbed a warm jersey, a pair of shoes, and some warm pants and threw them out the broken window.
She made her way to the window, and pushed it open. Carefully, she climbed out, trying to avoid the broken glass. Once outside, she put on her shoes as quickly as she could, and pulled on the jersey. She had decided that there was no time to pull on her trousers. She simply grabbed them, and ran.
She hadn’t been running for long before she couldn’t do so anymore. She fell down to her knees, completely exhausted. She crawled up next to a dead tree, sat down, and leaned against it. She took this opportunity to pull on her pants. Her legs were starting to go numb from the cold.
She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down. Her weak heart was beating as fast as it could go. Why her? Was there any reason that they wanted her? She was a nobody; an inferior being in the world, barely able to pull her own body weight.
She heard the soft snow crunching underneath someone’s feet. Her eyes snapped open to see one of the older girls walking up to her. It was one of the regular bullies. Immediately Crea’s face became scornful.
“Wh – what do y – you want?” she said, in a tone to match her face. The bully’s face was fearful, as though she had been running away from something.
“You have to get out of here. The military are after you, Crea. A few of us snuck out, and are hiding somewhere. Come with me, I’ll take you there,” she said in a hurried manner.
“I d – don’t bel – believe y – you,” Crea said in suspicion.
“Please, you have to come! You have to believe me!” the other cried out, looking over her shoulder.
“Y – you – co – this could b – be some s – sick joke, li – like a – always.”
“Goddammit, Crea. If you don’t come, I’ll have to beat the shit out of you until you do!” she said, her face taking a serious and threatening turn. “I’ll carry you if I have to!”
Crea immediately fell into a submissive state of mind. You sudden resolve was now replaced with the old fear of the bullies.
Then, she realised something: It was all psychological. Her mind had been so battered and beaten, that she would automatically respond to threats. She cursed herself silently as she slowly stood up.
“I – I’ll come, th – then…”
******** ********
“This is a war. The Machine Key is what will end it. Without this key, many more lives will be lost.”
“Is that any reason to dispatch a full military unit to a children’s home? A god damn orphanage! You hear me?” the aged man said angrily. They were all in a board room. Business men all sat, a young and prospective man standing at the front.
“I took the necessary precautions. We can’t afford the Key from escaping.” Arthur said. He was dressed in cream business suit, with a black tie. His well oiled hair was brushed to one side professionally.
“Just because you’re the goddamn Secretary of Defence doesn’t mean you can send that kind of force against children. Hasn’t this war taken enough from them?”
That's where it ends. Sorry, folks =P
