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Effect of War

Updated on April 16, 2017

April 24th,

He left for war today.

As he folded his uniform, I knew that he would never return home. I didn't even know if there would be a home to return to. With a final hug and kiss, I watched the love of my life walk away for the last time. My heart ached for my brave solider.

April 27th,

Only a few days have passed.

As expected, any armed forces sent out were immediately destroyed. The only thought that could comfort me was the lack of strange men in uniform appearing at my doorstep with the deliverance of bad news.

It gave me hope that my husband might still be alive out there. Somewhere.

May 15th,

Weeks have gone by with no end in sight.

His letters have arrived, but none of them seem promising. "I'm alive," was the only good thing he could say followed up with a lack of hope towards anything going well.

The news echoed his concerns. We've had to pull back our forces, and now for the first time in decades the war was being fought on our soils.

Not only that, but enemies are slipping through. They are blending in well with our people, and carrying out attacks that can be explained as nothing less than terrorists. Only a couple have taken place, but I have a feeling that this is going to be a long and destructive continuance of battle.

Of course, we could use the ultimate weapon. Doing so would cause everyone to turn on us though, and would likely lead to the end of the world.

Home doesn't feel sweet anymore.

June ???

It's difficult to keep track of time anymore.

Everything passes by so quick, yet every time I take a moment to glance back I realize time is painstakingly slow.

There used to be bombings scattered around crowd-heavy places. Malls, concerts, schools; to them, it didn't matter how innocent you were. You were just another number on the massively growing scale of death counts.

The world is too numb to care anymore.

Many are trying to escape, but we are rarely welcomed elsewhere.

Streets have become ghost towns. Most stores are closed, and those that remain open are understaffed with few customers. Those employees probably don't mind taking on extra work though. If it means less people, it means less of a chance that they'll be attacked while they work.

No more letters have arrived. I am worried about him. I've stocked up on food and necessities, waiting at home for his return.

I still have doubts that I'll ever see him again, and these halls and rooms feel bare without him around.

???

A vacation right about now sounds like a lovely idea.

The ground rumbles beneath me. It feels as if it is coming to life. All I can think of is being anywhere else but here.

Walls begin to crumble around me, and all I can see is his face.

Even the couch I am sitting on begins to tear apart under the pressure of the collapsing building. I am too weary of the outside world to escape the coffin of my house.

-

His face becomes more distinct in the dust. If only he was here. He would know what to do. His legs, crawling through the wreckage that has replaced our once beautiful estate. His arms, muscular and confident as they wrap around me to carry me away from my grave.

It takes a moment for me to realize that my imagination is reality. Only when he coughs from the dust engulfing his lungs do I recognize that I am being carried away. I stare in disbelief as we escape.

The happiness of his return hasn't lasted long.

I woke up to a low boom that shook the earth around me. Without a clue on how long I had been knocked out, or where I was, there was quite a confusion to where I was or what was happening.

He wasn't watching me though. Instead, he was looking past me. When I followed his gaze, I found that there was a large fiery light blazing upwards towards the sky.

That was when the shock wave hit.

It burned.

Every part of my body felt as if it was on fire, my throat burned and only then did I realize that this was our last moments alive.

The light changed, raising up into the form of a mushroom. It was difficult to breathe, everything ached and I didn't recognize my skin anymore. It was replaced with burns and blisters.

The world had to cry out in horror over this. An event as large as this wouldn't be ignored. It couldn't. Many would likely be tempted to join forces against this atrocity. Yet, I don't know if I want it recognized. To take action in return would surely lead to the end of humanity.

Unbearable pain reminded me. In the end, I would be dead anyways. Why would any of this matter to me anymore?

© 2017 Alexis Chantel

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