No Shelter for the Complacent
By J. L. Young This war of attrition has to end. This land used to be bountiful and vast. I dug in. Bombed out buildings have become my homes. Lamb’s quarters wildly grown in the sidewalk cracks was the meal of the day. I wear whatever clothing I had on my back the day the bombs fell and the earth shook. No known reason for the war. I grow tired of breathing concrete dust and fiberglass. My makeshift mask has proven to be useless. When the world has gone silent, I walk slowly past the rubble of once beautiful buildings with the hope I’d hear someone calling for help from within the rubble. So far, nary a voice has caught my ear, yet I will continue to be vigilant. A stand near one of the razed buildings is where I perused the shelves. One such periodical caught my eye. I took it to my shelter. It was a building on the verge of collapse. I figured it wouldn’t likely be a target a second time. Inside, I settled into a found sleeping bag for some rest. As I read, a magazine report about a race car piqued my interest and my thoughts beckoned back to a time where happiness wasn’t just a memory. The lugging of the engines with massive camshafts approached the stage lines. The illumination of the tree lights as the cars launched in a roar that drowned out the crowd. I awoke to a subtle shift in the building and scrambled out of my bag, threw all my belongings into it, vacated, made my way across the street to a bricked in park and climbed over the short wall, and caught my breath. When I peaked over the wall, I saw a tank had veered off the street and grazed the building. It wasn’t long until the remaining sections of the building collapsed. The tank had trundled clear of the rubble and the commander sat atop the turret with binoculars to his eyes, scanning the area. He looked down into the turret hole and moved his mouth. The turret turned ever so slowly until the main gun was aimed toward me. I took flight as a barrage of machine gun fire erupted. Refuge was sought behind a bank. There, I caught my breath. It wasn’t long until I heard the tank’s engine approaching. I had to move and keep moving. My heart pounded painfully in my chest. The desire to vomit grew. The commander must have an infrared device at his disposal as it tracked me at every turn. I found myself in an alley. The walls too high to climb. I turned to find the tank filling the gap between the buildings, its turret aimed at me. I dropped to my knees and closed my eyes. The sound of boots on the asphalt inspired my eyelids to spring open. The commander, not a man, stepped closer. She brandished a pistol. I looked into her blue-gray eyes as she aimed across the iron sites. My heart calmed, but slightly. “Will you permit me a question?” “You may ask,” She replied in English and without any particular accent. “Why have you attacked us?” “The oligarchs have usurped power in your country. Your democracy has crumbled as this city has crumbled around you. On your watch, your country has waged war with all the world. Your complacency is your undoing. Only the children are innocent.” “You’re,” I paused to prolong my life even for a few seconds. I closed my eyes, “you’re right and for that I cannot atone for those you have lost. I ask for no mercy for there is none to give. Do what you must.” She squeezed the trigger.
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