Safe

Pause the book reports for a post. Here's another short story that I wrote... I entered it into a competition. What do you think?

Safe 

            The house shakes around me; I have no time to think. Grabbing a shirt, I dash outside. I’ve heard it said that it’s better to be outdoors during an airstrike, I find this logic undeniable. The whine of missiles and the screams of their victims blast my eardrums, but I cannot cover them. I know that, in order to be safe, I must run to the outskirts of town and meet my— remembering that my parents might still be in the house, I turn around, but as I do, it explodes in a ball of fire and smoke. I continue on my escape course, hoping that they are safe.

            I don’t know when the bombing started and honestly, I don’t care. The only thing that matters is how soon it will end. It has been years since this war began and our town has realized that bomb shelters are absolutely worthless. Instead, we must escape to the fields, where there are no structures to target. I detest modern war technology. The accuracy that it gives people and the havoc it causes on the receiving end.

            I run hard, and fast, passing rubble from past destruction. Before the war, there were some days that I wished would never end. Now, I wish that almost every day would be over; hoping that tomorrow will bring peace. It never does. My father tells me that the reason we cannot have complete peace is because we live in a fallen world. He says that we will one day have perfect peace… in heaven. I don’t know what to believe… about God, at least. Sometimes I wonder if he exists and, if he does, how could he let so much devastation take place? I am a Jew. My people are supposedly God’s chosen people. I don’t believe it; why would he let his people die? Why does carnage reign supreme in the Promised Land? Like I said, I don’t know what to believe about God. Maybe when I’m older and the war is over, I’ll give him a chance.  Now, I only wonder… when will this hell end?

            I reel from the impact of a rocket that has found its mark nearby. It feels like I am on a treadmill and that, no matter how hard I try, I cannot get out of the town. Almost like the scenery is on spools and they just keep turning, while I waste my energy on the belt in hopes of escape. After several minutes of hard running, I give up and hide under a ‘cave’ of rubble. I don’t care if it will protect me or not, I just hug my knees to my chest and wait. I want to scream at the enemy, but I know that they won’t hear me. I want to curse them for taking away my life, my friends… my grandparents. These thoughts bring tears to my eyes, but I wipe my eyes dry. You’re fourteen, I tell myself, be strong.  How can I be strong in the midst of such hatred? The pain is so great; my ears are ringing from the explosions coming from everywhere. I feel as though I am in one of the horror stories that the Americans like… the ones where death is coming for you and you cannot stop it, no matter how hard you try.

            As the smoke in front of me clears, I see the end of town. I think that I can make it. As the missiles continue to pummel the ground, I break from my cover and sprint towards the field. Something explodes to my right, catapulting me through the air… and slipping me into unconsciousness.

            When I wake, I find that I am stuck under a pile of rubble. There are voices speaking in low tones, feet crunching the gravel… They are searching. I don’t know why I didn’t realize it before, but there are no explosions. The airstrike must be over, and now the survivors are looking for anyone to bury. Someone who wasn’t as fortunate as them. I try to call out, but my voice is no more than a whisper. I clear my throat from the dust and grime that I must have breathed in and try again. “Help!” Relief washes over me, I can speak. There is a shuffle of footsteps and I realize that I was having trouble breathing as wreckage is lifted and my lungs fill with air. After an eternity of waiting, I am free. By now, my parents have been alerted of my safety and a crowd has gathered around. Questions bombard me like the rockets from last night. I try hard to answer them, but cannot keep up. I am so happy to find that my parents are safe. Food is brought out and we have a meal, whether breakfast, lunch or dinner, I am not sure. As is tradition before we eat, my father leads us in prayer.

            “Yahweh,” He pauses and begins to cry. I guess that these tears are probably from mixed emotions, happiness, that his family is safe, but also sadness, that the town has been shattered… yet again. He regains his composure and continues, “Thank you for keeping us safe. Amen.”

            Safe, I laugh to myself. I look around at the destruction and see what war has done. I look at the survivors and see the peace that they’ve somehow found. I still don’t quite believe that God is alive, but if he is, I thank him for giving me such good companions, and yes, for keeping us safe. But safe for how long?