Life and War in a wasteland

War

The wife I chose, was a bit older than me. She told me that this wasn't the first time that she had lived this situation. She was stolen from her birthplace by the group we had just destroyed. Our food production after the battle had grown, just like our population. Inevitably so did our water needs. Our missions to the river had increased in frequency. We were reaching the limits of our population. Old people died and children were born to replace them. My father was one of them. A pain in his chest, growing even greater every day. But he waited until my firstborn was born and be given his name. After that he gave up and died, happy that he would live through my son. After that I made another son. My wife had another son before them, that was lost in a fever. I agreed to give our second son his name. She was happy to see them grow strong and healthy and in a community that provided a good environment for them to grow smart. And for a very long time, I was happy as well.

And then war returned, worse than ever before. Everyday, we could hear hundreds of explosions. Bursts from firearms were all around us. We even saw some of the warriors on the streets. We hadn't seen anything like them until then. They were two to three times bigger than even the biggest of us. They wore clothes that blended almost perfectly with the environment. They were either hiding behind half demolished walls, or run to their next cover.

When it was my turn to go to the roof and care for the crops, I risked taking a look around the city. Buildings that used to be standing tall, now where laying on the ground. Collapsed, probably killing all their inhabitants. Our building was relatively in a good shape. The warriors used our upper floors to get a better view from the high ground , but when they were done with whatever they were doing, they were leaving without breaking any of our work. Only one of our crop bed had been trampled by them, because it was at a spot that had an excellent view of a big road. I dared look on that road and saw the bodies of warriors, but quickly moved away before I got the attention of who knows who was down there. The walls of our building had taken many hits, by projectiles and luckily not explosions. They were enough to sometimes break large pieces of it. After the war we would have many more entrances to be guarded against enemies.

After about a month the war was still going on with an even greater ferocity. Our building was shaking and we were shaking with it in fear. For hours this had gone on. Some tried to sing, others just cried openly, without even keeping a mask of bravery for the good of the collective. A large explosion was felt in our chests and almost deafened our ears. What I heard after that I imagine was the sound of the floors falling one onto another. I holded my wife tight and she did so too.

I don't know if she did it on purpose, but her body protected me. We were trapped under a half broken table, in the ruins of our collapsed building. I was lucky that it hadn't broken off completely, fate wanted me to live for a bit more. Somewhere close to me were my kids. Tears flowed when I thought how foolish I was when I told them to hide under another table. In theory, my father had told to me, the tables could protect us from falling rubble. He had promised me that when I was a kid. But now that I had seen the strongest table of our building getting crushed, trapping me underneath, I knew that it was all stories. Lies we told ourselves to give us hope to live.

It was dark, our little bubble of air. My wife in my arms was trying to keep breathing, trembling in fear of her end. She didn't want to die. I kissed her. I couldn't find the words to say to comfort her. My chest was heavy. I had trouble breathing. In my final moments I thought of my life. I thought of how insignificant we were, that our death would not change anything. I was born in a world that was ruled by war. The horribleness of death was not enough to stop it. Why did people chose war. Why was it worth it to stop prematurely the lives of people who lived, who laughed, who loved? War didn't even stop when people had nothing to divide them. There was enough land in the world for everyone. Was it fear? Was it sadism, imposing your will no matter what? The answer was sitting just in front of me, but the fog in my mind couldn't let me see it. Last breath. My father had said that we would go to a better place after our death. But perhaps he was wrong yet again. I see a light behind the fog of consciousness.