everything is gone
Beyond the Wire
Some people say that the world will never be more at peace than it is now, at this very second. But I think that is a lie.
I believe that, in this world, peace is a dream that over the years has been burned, like a piece of paper slowly catching fire, its corners curling and blackening with the heat of the flames. Eventually the paper will burn to ashes, and no one will remember what was written on the paper, or what happened to it. No one will care.
I run my fingers through my short, blonde hair. It now reaches down almost to my shoulders. I have got into the habit of pushing it behind my ears. I don’t know why. Maybe because this hair is a symbol of what I once went through – what I am leaving behind. I can still feel the razors scraping my scalp, eradicating anything I have of the life I once had, I once enjoyed.
The bag is getting heavier on my shoulder. I have created a system: two minutes on my left shoulder, two on my right. That way the weight will be balanced. Equal. Like the world never will be.
Soon I am there. I close my eyes before I take a good look at the house. As if when I open them, Mother and Father will be standing at the doorway, beckoning me inside, saying that my supper will be getting cold. And Hana will be there too. She will be running around the garden, laughing, her striking, blue eyes shining in the sun.
But my parents are not there when I open my eyes. Their bodies, like the peace in this world, have been turned to ashes. Along with my sister, who was only eight. It had been only a month until her ninth birthday.
And there is no sun. There are only the grey clouds, concealing the sun’s light from my eyes. The clouds will always be there. I will never be able to see that sun again.
Everything is gone.
I kneel down in the front yard, and run my hands over the dead grass where the flowers used to grow. Where Hana and I used to spend our time when we weren’t allowed to do anything. Like prisoners of our own world. Our own home.
I lie there for a while, on the grass. I don’t open my eyes. I never want to open my eyes again. I don’t want to have to see a world without everyone I have ever cared for, ever loved.
Everything is gone.
Not everything, I realise. There is still one thing that is still there.
The horde of memories I have carried with me all this way is still there. The green uniforms. The sharp sound of a gunshot. The feeling of running your hands over your head only to find stubble. Hunger. Pain. Loss.
These memories will always be there.
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