On the Edge of the Earth
On the Edge of the Earth
She stood, on the edge of a cliff, the wind toying with her wild auburn hair. Her intense green eyes stared out to the vast gray ocean. This girl had lost everything. First the war had taken her father, then stolen her brother. They were completely unprepared and unskilled for a war to invade their country, their lives. Like toy soldiers they marched to war, and like soldiers, they fell, their battle uniforms forever stained crimson. They didn’t stand a chance. Of course, this was never discussed in the house, not around the children. She smiled darkly as she remembered these happier times. No, not happier times, times of pretending. They were all so much happier pretending. Pretending there wasn’t a war going on. Pretending the already scarce food was not running out. Pretending their mother was not sick. Pretending they didn’t hear the gunshots, forever getting closer and closer. Pretending the Great War was not being rained upon them, that Death’s long, cold hand was not knocking on their doors and windows.
In the mornings she would go to the thinning forest in search of firewood, then down to the beach to look for crabs, or anything that washed up on the graying sand. What ever she found she took home, to cook or make something for the children to play with. In the evening she would light the only candle in their house and they would say a prayer for their father and brother. Then, she would sit down and teach the children to read. In the spare time she had, she would attend to their ever immanent mother. Since the plague of war had invaded their peaceful existence, her mother sat, rocking her chair by the fire. At times, an evil smile played along her features, her mothers eyes focused on something a million miles away. The young girl had become accustomed to ignoring her mother, as had the other children. To them she was just a ghostly presence in the background.
Until the day the war finely encroached upon their home.
She wasn’t there when it happened. When she heard the screams of her little sisters, she ran to the yard and saw the soldiers shoot her mother in cold blood in front of the children. She knew there was no use for her to run into the house to try and save her siblings. She knew she would just be shot like her mother. So she hid in the forest and watched though the bushes praying God would save them.
God didn’t come.
After having their way with her little sisters, they murdered them and left, laughing.
The brutal onslaught of this horrific image brought her to her knees. She wraps thin, fragile arms around her chest, in a desperate hope to stop herself from falling to pieces. The waves of emotional pain reared high, washing over, suffocating. Her heart tore with pain, leaving bleeding jagged pieces. She straggles to keep her eyes open, for a reason she couldn’t recall. Her thoughts turned to the glory and freedom of ending her life, by one swift movement, one step and all the pain would be gone.
Suddenly she remembered why she has to keep her eyes open, why she has to go on. Slowly, dragging her self up, she pushes the emotional fog down inside her. With new found resolution, she starts to run to the village, to tell her horrendous story. She knows with certainty that her story will live on, long after the day the godforsaken war has ended. Of how she stood on the edge of the Earth and survived.
In the mornings she would go to the thinning forest in search of firewood, then down to the beach to look for crabs, or anything that washed up on the graying sand. What ever she found she took home, to cook or make something for the children to play with. In the evening she would light the only candle in their house and they would say a prayer for their father and brother. Then, she would sit down and teach the children to read. In the spare time she had, she would attend to their ever immanent mother. Since the plague of war had invaded their peaceful existence, her mother sat, rocking her chair by the fire. At times, an evil smile played along her features, her mothers eyes focused on something a million miles away. The young girl had become accustomed to ignoring her mother, as had the other children. To them she was just a ghostly presence in the background.
Until the day the war finely encroached upon their home.
She wasn’t there when it happened. When she heard the screams of her little sisters, she ran to the yard and saw the soldiers shoot her mother in cold blood in front of the children. She knew there was no use for her to run into the house to try and save her siblings. She knew she would just be shot like her mother. So she hid in the forest and watched though the bushes praying God would save them.
God didn’t come.
After having their way with her little sisters, they murdered them and left, laughing.
The brutal onslaught of this horrific image brought her to her knees. She wraps thin, fragile arms around her chest, in a desperate hope to stop herself from falling to pieces. The waves of emotional pain reared high, washing over, suffocating. Her heart tore with pain, leaving bleeding jagged pieces. She straggles to keep her eyes open, for a reason she couldn’t recall. Her thoughts turned to the glory and freedom of ending her life, by one swift movement, one step and all the pain would be gone.
Suddenly she remembered why she has to keep her eyes open, why she has to go on. Slowly, dragging her self up, she pushes the emotional fog down inside her. With new found resolution, she starts to run to the village, to tell her horrendous story. She knows with certainty that her story will live on, long after the day the godforsaken war has ended. Of how she stood on the edge of the Earth and survived.