Crash and Burn

It goes something like one, two, three, and the world is crashing down at your feet – hot smoke and a loud boom boom boom filling the air around you. There’s a mess of debris and ash, and for a moment you think you might actually suffocate. But it passes, as does the shock, until all that’s left is silence. It only lasts for an instant, but it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up because nothing should ever be this quiet. You hold your breath and your emotions with it and then begin counting to ten. You only make it to eight when the screams start.

Your first instinct is to find your brother and your mom, but there’s a knot in your stomach that keeps you still, makes you want to cry because you know what you’ll find. Your heart thumps against your chest, slowing time down enough for you grasp hold of reality. You bite your tongue until you can taste blood – until you know you’re still alive, and then you run.

There’s no real need to run towards the front door because your house is in tatters, but your feet carry you there anyway, throat constricting all the while. You can’t stay here. You know you have to get out. The remainder of the house is going to collapse, and if not, another bomb might help it along. Your throat tightens again. It’s not so much that you’re scared, but that once you step outside you’re alone. It’s not something you can think about at the moment, so you whisper a short goodbye more to yourself than anything and then move forward.

You ignore the screams and cries and pleas for help as you run past because there’s nothing you can do. You’ve lost everything, but you’re still alive and now, if there ever was a right time, is the time to be selfish. There are more explosions to the right, but those sound distant. Even if they were close, there’s nowhere to hide.

You’re two blocks down when you see the tanks. There’s five of them moving towards you, guns pointed outwards daring anyone to move. You don’t know if you should stay still or run the other way. You’re probably going to die either way. Something clicks though, and without another thought, you turn on your heel and start running because you’re not the type to make it easy for the enemy.

A scream and a yell, and you see three men out of the corner of your eye running towards the tanks. You think you yell at them to stop, but you can’t be sure because not half a second later you hear the gunshots. You don’t look back.

We do not wish to harm any survivors, you hear. It is in your best interest to stay put. The voice speaking over the megaphone grates on your ears. We mean you no harm. You want to stop and scream. Scream at the top of your lungs that they killed your mother, your brother. Scream at them to look around. Look. Look. Look. Your eyes are burning, tears pricking the corners. You try to clear your throat, but it’s too tight and that only makes the tears pour out faster.

This region has been overtaken. You are all under new rule now. You think you hear someone crying. Do not worry. As long as you do not fight, no harm will come to you. More yelling. More gunshots. Please. This does not have to end in any more deaths. The crying gets louder, and suddenly you can’t breathe. Your pace slows, and you find yourself gasping for air. You need to stop. You need everything to just stop because you can feel yourself going. You can’t handle anymore. There’s nothing left.

Your feet begin to slow to a stop when you feel yourself being pulled to the right. Someone is holding on to your hand. You let out a squeal, but then your eyes focus. It’s a boy around your own age, and he has a finger to his lips. You nod, and he pulls you down the thin alley way before veering to the left. He takes a quick look around and then stops. “We should be fine here,” he says, and you nod again because you don’t trust yourself to talk.

You sink to the ground, eyes closing as you do. You can still hear the piercing voice on the megaphone if you listen closely. There will be a mandatory broadcast tomorrow evening that will inform all survivors of the new laws. Gunshots. It’s okay. We are here to make things better. We are here to save you. You start crying then. They’re loud sobs that rack your body and leave you unable to breathe. You cry for your mother and your brother and for this boy you don’t even know, but most of all, you cry for yourself.

The boy says nothing, but you notice that he presses the tip of his shoe against yours so you know he’s still there. And that’s the best comfort you can ask for.

Morning comes unbearably fast. You wake to the sound of yet another gunshot and find your heart racing wildly against your chest. You take several calming breaths then focus on the boy that sits in front of you. He looks familiar. You vaguely remember the tousled brown hair and sharp nose, but you can’t place it. You’ve seen him before. You know you have. Before you can think about it further, he opens his eyes.

He looks lost for a second, but then his face relaxes. “Sleep some?” he asks.

“Yeah. More than I thought I would,” you say, but your voice comes out in little more than a whisper.

He turns slightly, and it’s then that you notice the small backpack. He pulls out a small bottle and hands it to you. “Here.”

You take a drink. “Thanks.” You hand it back, and he takes a drink as well. You watch him, studying his face because you still can’t remember. “Hey,” you hear yourself say, “why do you look so familiar?”

He half smiles. “I lived four houses down from yours.” Your brows furrow slightly, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty. “I met your mother once,” he says suddenly, eyes staring at the ground. “She came over when we first moved in to the neighborhood. Made us feel welcome.” He smiles then, and you can feel your eyes begin to sting. “I used to see you and your brother outside sometimes. I always meant to introduce myself, just never got around to it. Wish I had.” His voice sounds almost sad, and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from crying again. He locks eyes with you. “Both of them?”

“Yes.”

“Mine too.”

It’s not until the afternoon that the both of you decide to walk around. You find yourself on the familiar road of what was once your neighborhood. There are several people walking around with their shoulders hunched over, salvaging what they can from what’s left of their home. “Do you want to go back?” he asks.

“No,” you say because there’s nothing for you to go back to.

He nods and continues walking. You follow close behind.

Evening comes, and you wait on the street along with the rest of the survivors for the broadcast to come. Only it doesn’t come. It’s an hour after the intended time, and you don’t know whether to be happy or worried. The couple to your right is smiling, and you hear someone say that “those devils must have been taken down. We’re free. Free.” But there’s a knot in your stomach that’s twisting your insides and making it hard to breathe. You look up, and the worry must show in your eyes because, in an instant, he’s pulling you away from the crowd. “Time to go,” he says, and you let him pull you along.

Not a minute later, you hear the screams and the loud click click click of the guns. You don’t when you started running, but it’s not fast enough. You need to get away. “Faster,” you hear the boy scream. The gunshots are getting closer. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Just a little faster,” you hear. He doesn’t let go of your hand.

When you open your eyes, you find yourself zooming past half burnt trees and broken tree limbs. “Not here. Just a little farther,” he whispers, and you don’t know if he’s talking to you or not.

Your breaths are coming out in harsh gasps, and you don’t know how much longer you can run, but then the pace slows to a stop. Gently, he let’s go of your hand, and you look around. The trees here are whole, standing high above the forest floor. They didn’t make it to this part of the forest, and you’re grateful. You slide to the ground to take a much needed break.

You can’t hear the screams anymore, and briefly you wonder how many survived. You look up. “We should be safe here,” he says. “For a while at least.”

“Okay.” You glance behind him, and for the first time you notice the full moon. You close your eyes, let your mind wander. You think about everything. You allow yourself to really, truly think this time. You think about the what ifs and the could of beens. You think about your dreams and your brother’s dreams and your mom’s smile. You think and you wish and you hope, but you don’t cry.

“It’ll get better,” he says softly.

“I know,” you say, and then smile for the first time in a long time because that’s all you have left, and it has to be good enough.