I removed the music from my life, not by choice, and my life became hell. I let the music back in, and the sun rose on a new day.
I awake to find water over my head, I swim and struggle for the light of the sun refracted through the shimmering waves. My chest burns, my heart claws desperately fighting my lungs for a fresh breath of air. I get nearer the light and the darkness starts to seep into the edges of perception. The world slowly shrinks to Zeno’s pinhole, I break the surface and the light explodes into my lungs. The roar of death slowly recedes from my ears to be replaced by a lilting laughter. She’s standing there laughing at me.
The world shifts.
The mind shifts.
The quiet scenery passes by in a midsummer blur muted by the tinted window inches from my nose. Although the trip is not tiring, it is exhausting. Running away is never as easy as it sounds, what they don’t tell you is that you are always leaving something behind. When my brother wrote from Iraq he always ended each letter with six words, “I miss home, I love you.” Fourteen is too young to understand those words, to young to keep them in mind, to young to become wise.
The last image of home I have is a picture placed carefully in my breast pocket. It’s faded and worn around the edges, but the smile on my mother’s face still shines, and the pride in my father’s eyes still carries the weight of the world.
The train jerks and my face slams into the window. The lights flicker on overhead, a tired voice announces that we are nearing the outskirts of Berlin, and we’ll arrive at the encampment shortly. I tighten the shoulder straps of my pack and flip the safety off on my rifle. Close as we are to the front American snipers have been known to pick off soldiers in the moments between exiting the train and entering the encampment.
The last push to clear the Americans from Europe will begin in a few weeks, just enough time for the Brits to mangle the Atlantic supply lines, and the Muslims to secure their footholds in the south of France. On last push, and the hope that this war will finally be over.
A bright light envelopes the interior of the car and I instinctively pull my visor over my eyes. Even with the tinted windows the nuclear flash can cause blindness in the unprotected eyes. Turning to look at the mushroom cloud beginning to form behind us I can see the shockwave catching up with us. Estimating the impact I begin the countdown. Seven, six, five, four, three, two and a half, two, one and three quarters, nine eighths, two fifths, Zeno.
The world shifts.
The mind shifts.
The sun light rains through the window onto my eyelids. Shielding my face with my hand I roll over and grab my phone of the nightstand while it softly plays Mario’s Underworld. Flipping the phone open I deftly disable the alarm with my eyes closed. A face floats through the post sleep haze. Smiling I sit up and dangle my feet off the edge of the bed. I may have to go to work, but at least I have she’ll be there to brighten my day.
I awake to find water over my head, I swim and struggle for the light of the sun refracted through the shimmering waves. My chest burns, my heart claws desperately fighting my lungs for a fresh breath of air. I get nearer the light and the darkness starts to seep into the edges of perception. The world slowly shrinks to Zeno’s pinhole, I break the surface and the light explodes into my lungs. The roar of death slowly recedes from my ears to be replaced by a lilting laughter. She’s standing there laughing at me.
The world shifts.
The mind shifts.
The quiet scenery passes by in a midsummer blur muted by the tinted window inches from my nose. Although the trip is not tiring, it is exhausting. Running away is never as easy as it sounds, what they don’t tell you is that you are always leaving something behind. When my brother wrote from Iraq he always ended each letter with six words, “I miss home, I love you.” Fourteen is too young to understand those words, to young to keep them in mind, to young to become wise.
The last image of home I have is a picture placed carefully in my breast pocket. It’s faded and worn around the edges, but the smile on my mother’s face still shines, and the pride in my father’s eyes still carries the weight of the world.
The train jerks and my face slams into the window. The lights flicker on overhead, a tired voice announces that we are nearing the outskirts of Berlin, and we’ll arrive at the encampment shortly. I tighten the shoulder straps of my pack and flip the safety off on my rifle. Close as we are to the front American snipers have been known to pick off soldiers in the moments between exiting the train and entering the encampment.
The last push to clear the Americans from Europe will begin in a few weeks, just enough time for the Brits to mangle the Atlantic supply lines, and the Muslims to secure their footholds in the south of France. On last push, and the hope that this war will finally be over.
A bright light envelopes the interior of the car and I instinctively pull my visor over my eyes. Even with the tinted windows the nuclear flash can cause blindness in the unprotected eyes. Turning to look at the mushroom cloud beginning to form behind us I can see the shockwave catching up with us. Estimating the impact I begin the countdown. Seven, six, five, four, three, two and a half, two, one and three quarters, nine eighths, two fifths, Zeno.
The world shifts.
The mind shifts.
The sun light rains through the window onto my eyelids. Shielding my face with my hand I roll over and grab my phone of the nightstand while it softly plays Mario’s Underworld. Flipping the phone open I deftly disable the alarm with my eyes closed. A face floats through the post sleep haze. Smiling I sit up and dangle my feet off the edge of the bed. I may have to go to work, but at least I have she’ll be there to brighten my day.
