text: It has been five days since the war had begun. I do not know what the word “war” means, but I am too scared to ask Da, because he seems so sad all the time. I wonder what makes him feel that way. The power was cut off permanently and Da says it won’t come back anytime soon. It might be for the best, because then the night would be less scary and my sisters and I wouldn’t have to risk seeing the bleeding people on the television. They might be in black and white, but they still frighten us all, even Ma. Da is sitting in his office, again, frantically scribbling on paper with a gas lamp on his desk, and Betty and Lily are hiding in their rooms. They’re as scared as I am, but Betty told me I would have to become a man if we wanted to survive this. What “this” was, I do not know. Ma is with me in the living room, and she looks as grave as ever since the news broke out. It seems like I was the only one who had no idea what was happening, so maybe it was time to find out. “Ma? What’s a war?” My voice is barely a whisper, but it jerks her out of her thoughts with a hint of alarm on her face. Perhaps her nerves are always on edge now. “You don’t want to know, Eamon. It’s best if you don’t know,” She rubs her temples dismissively, despite the fact that she hasn’t given me the answer I wanted. Instead, I cuddle closer to her on our worn out couch, and in spite of the dust and the cold and the fear, I decide not to voice my complaints or fears. Like Betty said, I had to grow up. “But I need to know, Ma. Otherwise I can’t help you at all,” I look at her misshapen brown curls and her sad green eyes and it fuels me with such determination to banish the misery out of her eyes forever, to find her the solution to all our problems. “A war is when a disagreement happens between two countries, like Durshall and Kringa,” She spits out the word in disgust. “and instead of fixing their problems verbally, in a civilized way, they fight against each other, dragging countless innocent people into their problems for no reason.” Durshall was our country, but Kringa was the country everyone here hates, and I wouldn’t blame them; they were always taking from our country without payback for what they take, but I still do not see why they couldn’t have solved their issues privately. “Is that why the world is so dark all the time? Is that why Da is always so upset?” I am seven years old, and I think of myself a man. However, what Ma said afterwards shook all the hope out of me and dragged me down and endless spiral of nausea and petrification I would never forget. “I’m not sure how much of this you can take,” She pulled me closer to her chest until my dirty hair was on her chest, and my ears could hear her tense heartbeat, slightly faster than it should be. “But everything is so dark for the mere reason of the guns and the lifeless bodies lying around. Everyone feels hate, everyone feels greed, and especially now, those feelings are what’s driving those people to destruction. The sky never clears now because the gunpowder is so excessive it painted the sky black, and buried the last inch of comfort and security under its ashes,” She pauses abruptly, her eyes suddenly on the door behind me, the one leading to Da’s office. “Wait here,” she commands, pushing me gently off her lap and onto the ragged couch. Its color is of faded dreams and lost hope, of all the bad feelings swirling around our neighborhood and how everyone is scared, even when they pretend to be brave. Ma disappears inside Da’s office, taking one of the gas lamps with her, plunging me into the darkness. It makes me realize how the darkness is everywhere, it’s just that we found a way to illuminate it, but we can never make it go away forever. The dark will always follow. I try to smoothen out my blond hair to no avail, and since we barely have enough water to drink and cook with, a shower is out of question. I’ve always been a thinker, but it was fun when I was thinking because I wanted to, not because I had to, and back when everything was still normal and all I had to worry about was not getting caught by Rudy in a game of hide-and-seek, that sort of simple thinking sounds like a piece of heaven. Even though I just learned what the word “war” means, that didn’t mean I had no idea what it meant. In fact, I was asking merely for a confirmation, in case it meant something different, and maybe less catastrophic. A few trips to my mind palace later, Ma and Da show up out of the office, each with an unlit candle and a gas lamp in each hand. It is time to go. The look on their faces says everything. I rise to call Betty and Lily, but Da places a hand on my shoulder and urges me back to the couch. I guess that being a man starts from now. Da looks like he had grown at least ten years older in a span of a few days; his eyes were glassy, rimmed with red around the edges. An unshaven stubble on his chin was a contrast to his sunny face, and suddenly I feel as if he’s five seconds away from tearing a piece of the weight on his shoulder and placing it on mine. Ma and Da share a private look until they’re both looking at me. It’s Da who speaks first. “Look, son. This is the last thing I had ever wanted to have to tell you. If I could, I would have done every single thing I could to ensure you wouldn’t have to go through something as bad as what we are all going through right now, but what needs to be done needs to be done.” I swallow anxiously, the dread slowly inching back into my body and filling every organ of my gazing at me like this might be the last time they will see me alive was unnerving. Ma’s eyes are already tearing up. A loud bang sounds outside. It nearly tips me sideways, even though I had heard it at least ten times in the course of four days, but with my nerves set on a trap wire, it’s hard to control my reflexes. Da is unexpectedly kneeling in front of me, righting my balance and placing me back on that disgusting couch. “You’ve heard a shell strike before, Eamon, now listen closely.” His voice was veering into nervousness, and Ma has taken off up to the rooms and is now speaking in hushed whispers amongst my sisters. That could not mean well. “I hear you, Da.” He reaches for my hand and clutches an ivory-colored envelope sealed with red wax in it, then I am immediately aware of what I need to do, even before he speedily says, “Eamon, you know where the post office is, correct?” “Yes, sir.” “Good. I know it’s dangerous to go out at night, let alone to the post office, but this could shape our next few months. The army is shelling houses on our same street, Eamon, and we need to leave. The Gerg’s sent Rudy out tonight to do that as well, so when you deliver the letter, we’ll be able to evacuate the city by midnight. After you hand it in, head to that motel next to the office. You should find Rudy there. Both of you will move at midnight to meet us at the docks, where a liner will be waiting for us, understood?” I’m shaking. I cannot feel my hands, and I feel sick by the time Da’s finished. Yet, I still bob my head up and down in agreement. It’s not like I have any choice; I’m technically their only hope. My eyes travel down to the envelope and allow a surge of purpose to overwhelm me. I was getting my family out of this city, tonight. The clock is announcing the tenth bell by the time I’m creeping down my street, head low, shoes barely making a sound. I can’t call me own street The Playground anymore, since all that is left of it is rubble, along with a few sole houses whose residents probably wouldn’t survive long if they don’t resolve to leave the city. The post office is at least three streets away, but now even the neighbor’s house seems far away, which I guess is what happens when impending doom is settling upon everyone and everything you’ve ever known to love and cherish. I nearly halt as I register my thoughts. For once, they don’t seem like my own. It seems as if they were passed on to me, because I would never let myself focus on the dark sides of a situation when I have something to do about it. Perhaps that’s why everything is dark. Even the streets are dark. Every single lamp post is either smashed to crumbs, or lying on the ground. I keep to the shadows as I pass house after house, broken glass after dumped garbage after scurrying rats. I barely recognize my home anymore. Vaulting over a garbage can, I drop with a thud in front of the unlit post office. Anyone who doesn’t know better might have assumed it closed, but it’s perfectly operational. They only turn out the lights so they wouldn’t draw much attention. I take a deep breath before pushing the creaking wooden door open and stepping into the office. My shoes only brush the ground before someone with an air of importance yells out, “Who goes there?” I halt in my place. There is an equally likely possibility that the solider here is Durs as much as Kringan, but they weren’t equally horrifying. The government declared that the last call for evacuation is at midnight today, but in order to claim your place, you had to send a letter with the member count of your family and a small fee, then they would arrange for your transportation. However, word had gone out that they were taking more money than they should have due to the scarcity of boats and liners, despite the high demand over them. Part of me believes that’s because they converted half of the nation’s medium-to-big boats into warships. “I said who goes there!” The voice in the dark yanks me back into reality as I debate my next move. Da had severely reminded me that this is a stealth mission, and that being caught by the wrong person at the wrong place could lead to consequences. I stayed silent for a little more before determining that staying silent could mean getting shot. “I’m here to deliver a letter,” my voice cracks agonizingly, so I repeat louder. “I am here to deliver a letter on behalf of a Durs household. Who is here?” It’s a big risk to ask for identification from either armies, and I know that, so I inch back to the door in case I need to bolt. “You have no right to ask for identification. This city was put under curfew on August 9 th , 1921, five days ago. You are violating one of the new laws put on the city-” “But I do have a right to deliver a letter.” The soldier’s eye burns into mine, for interrupting him I suppose, if blue eyes could ever be cold. “The government allowed them if you’re evacuating the city...I have a right to deliver this letter.” The soldier approaches me slowly, a predator stalking its prey, and my blood freezes in my veins as he flashes me a sinister smile, the floorboards creaking under his military boots and pounds of body muscle. I take a few, reluctant steps back, unaware of what the man wants to do with me, but I realize that I do not want to find out. He makes his lunge for me just as I swing the door open and clamber outside into the dark night. For a second, I think I escaped. My feet carry me down the streets, unsure where to head. I do not want to lead him to Rudy’s hiding spot, but I also cannot navigate through the narrow streets with all the rubble when there isn’t so much as a gaslight to guide me. His heavy boots are racing after me, and when they seem to slow down a little, I steal a glance over my shoulder, and my heart stops. It’s not the sight of him loading his rifle with a few bullets, it’s not how terrified I am or how breathless, how our hope of fleeing is slipping through my fingers. No, it’s not that, because a few yards away, moving at a pace so slow and without so much as a sound, is Rudy, creeping behind the soldier, his head hooded, his pale face almost translucent. I want to scream at him, ask him what does he think he’s doing, but I can’t, so I keep running until I duck into an alley that gives me a clear look of the street I was just in. The soldier has stopped running, now glancing around with a shadow of uncertainty on his features. Rudy draws closer, and now I notice for the first time the odd glint of metal at his hands. It’s only when he strikes that I know what he is doing. It is only when the soldier collapses that I am able to comprehend that Rudy has just stabbed him. But the soldier is stronger than he looks, and by the time I reach them, the soldier had bonked Rudy on his head, both lying unconscious on the road. My breath catches in my throat, I stop breathing for a few seconds as I try to wake Rudy up. I shake his hood off his head, surveying the welt on his head, blood caking him from head to chin. My muscles ache from the rush of adrenaline, and I’m feeling dizzy, yet I force myself wrap my arms around his shoulders and drag him into the same alley I was in. It’s then that the panic kicks in. His breathing is slowing, and in the lighting, his head looks more badly injured than at first sight. I scramble to tear off a part of my shirt and press it to his wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but it’s no use. Rudy starts to cough, miraculously, signaling that he’s waking up. My relief turns into distress, however, when I realize that he’s coughing up blood. “ How is this possible?” I cry out to no one in particular, but a part inside me hopes that someone is out there, and will hear me and help me, even when no one shows up. Apparently, the soldier -still lying unconscious on the ground- has shot him at some point. It’s the only way to explain the blood. Or maybe he’s already been hit. Nevertheless, he’s awake, but he can’t open his eyes just yet. I wonder how I got here in the first place; how I’m laying with my lifetime best friend in a dark alleyway while he bleeds to death. Another cough, but Rudy’s soulless eyes are on me now, my heart skipping a beat. Maybe there’s hope for him after all, maybe he’ll make it! “Eamon...” He whispers, his voice coarse and rough, as if it hurts him to speak. Maybe it does hurt him. “Rudy, can you stand? We can get you out of here! We can go somewhere safe, get someone to fix you up. Do not give up on me. I’ll never forgive you if you did.” I’m already getting up, looking for a floorboard or a blanket or anything I can put him on so I can drag him to safety, but he holds my hand and pulls me down to him. There’s blood dripping from his open mouth, and his hands are colder than ice, but his eyes are on me. Wistfully, I squeeze his hand, letting the tears come, letting all the pain wash down, letting go of everything that has ever hurt me. I think Rudy cries too, but I’m too sad to notice. “Listen, Eamon.” He sounds more like himself now, and his voice drags me back to real life. “Go to the post...Give them your letter, and go home...Alright?” I nod frantically, sniffling and hiccupping, for this seemed like goodbye, and honestly, I don’t want to let him go, not just yet, but I know that I have to. “Don’t go to the motel...It’s closed down.” His eyes darken more, and he’s staring me with an intensity that could break. “Take care of them, Eamon. My family, and yours. I did it all for them, you know...Not just my family, but for yours, because they’re my family too. Don’t let me down, Eamon, or my ghost will haunt you in death.” He chuckles, then clutches his side in agony. I laugh a little. Even in his pain, he is still Rudy. He closes his eyes, and waves me off. “Go now. You can’t see me like this.” I don’t want him to be upset, so I turn and walk away, my heart cracking. Rudy was eleven, only four years older than me, yet he managed to save us all, even if it meant he couldn’t save himself.