Storymakers: Peace and Honor

Storymakers: Peace and Honor

By Brianna
Eighth Grade
Aylen Jr. High School
Puyallup, WA

I woke up on the cold ground, as I do every morning, with nothing but a thin sheet of fabric placed upon my body. The sound of gunshots and cries of agony run through my mind, making each day of living harder than the next. Sometimes I wish that this life would be over. I mean, what's the use of living if you know you're only waiting to die? My father once told me, "War is cruel, but life is treachery." And now, I'm finally beginning to see what he was talking about.

I was drafted in the army two years ago, the people from my small town called it "The Dark Conscription", though at the time, I didn't fully understand what that meant. The way things are here aren't right. No one should have to live like this. I'm not saying that this is worthless, because I'm fighting for my country, and these days, that is the greatest honor a man could have, and a man is nothing without his honor.

My main fear is getting out on the battlefield and firing my gun at the enemy while not getting hit myself and warning those around me of near dangers. I can't tell how many times I've pretended to shoot or ignored those around me and ran...memories I'm not proud of, but the only way I know how to survive.

The sun wasn't out this morning, and the wind was harsh with sand blowing everywhere. I grabbed my hat and stormed out of my tent, only to find that I was the last one out. All soldiers at the shelter station were running in different directions, each one yelling a unique warning. I stood nervously outside of my tent, and it wasn't until someone pushed me that I moved. I scurried to the weapon supply, but it was already demolished by the time I came around, so I quickly changed my path to the camp.

With sand grinding into my eyes, I somehow found the direction of our camp. I managed to look at my surroundings, noticing that there weren't any more of my people at the station. I ran faster; they would surely be locking the camp soon to keep out any enemies.

Not realizing my own speed, I heard someone distantly call my name, and the brief moment I turned my head to look, I tripped over my own feet and rammed into the ground. I gave out a cry of agony for my arm was throbbing unbearably, and my legs were aching from the pressure I put on them in this chaos.

"Wood! Wood!" The voice was closer now, with an eager exclamation in his yell. I suddenly felt someone at my side, and he immediately examined my condition, and tried to help me to my feet. He started speaking again, telling me to keep going, but, despite his inspiration, I was in too much pain to move.

At this point he started shouting at me, ordering rather than encouraging me to get to the camp. I rose to my feet, and once I calmed down, looked at his face for the first time. I recognized him as John Hardle, one of my only friends here. I got a sudden rush of energy when I saw him, and I remembered all the things I had to live for, my family back home, my education, and my new friends. I knew if I gave up and remained here both of us would surely die, for Hardle's loyalty was too strong to leave a man behind.

We started running again, my legs shaking with every stride. Our camp was in view, only a few hundred yards away. I finally had the feeling of hope; with John running by my side, we were unstoppable. But when I turned my head to give John a grin, I saw him moan and fall to the ground, sliding roughly on the sand. I came to a halt and ran back to him, trying to figure out what had happened. John was fighting to keep conscious, but the pain was too much for him, and I see now that he had been shot in the back of his leg with a bullet.

I could feel this uncontrollable rage come over me, and I roared out my grief. John wasn't gone yet, and I wasn't going down without a fight. I picked him up, threw him over my shoulder, and began to move again. The camp was just out of reach, if I could get John there, they would have enough time to save him.

I heard gun shots behind me, and I knew that I was their next victim. With a man over my shoulder, I dodged almost every bullet that came my way, except for one that hit my arm, and one that skinned my stomach. The camp was only twenty feet away; I knew I could make it.

I was getting closer, only about nine feet away now. I saw the door opening, and I ran faster than I ever had before. But it wasn't enough, for at that moment, my right leg gave out from the impact of a bullet. No, it wasn't over yet! I crawled to John and started to push him towards the door, and then I felt the pain of another bullet in my arm. It was getting harder to see, but, determined to get John to safety, I pushed him once more into the small opening the soldiers had made for us, then another bullet hit, this time in my back. I knew I wouldn't be able to make it inside the camp before the enemy arrived, so, using the last of my strength, I slammed the door closed, with John and the rest of the soldiers safely inside.

The last thought I had before I passed was this: I went down in great honor, with peace on my side.

Storymakers: A Creative Challenge for Young Writers, is a program inviting students in sixth, seventh, and eighth grades living in Washington State and British Columbia, Canada, to submit their own original creative writing pieces.