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Story Title: When One Hundred Million Died
Those were the last words I ever heard from my sister, age ten, who was just one of the countless victims of what this country has become, one of the many nameless trampled flowers of a cruel garden. Burned; gassed; poisoned; shot; nobody knows how we are going to die, only the ones who can no longer tell us.
It started with us, but sure as my sister’s dying screams and shrieks won’t end with us. We are the first generation of this terrifying place, no peace, but always guaranteed death.
I should start at the beginning. My name is Theodore Jones, and I am fourteen and have been through hell, but I mean, we all have, have we not?
My 12th birthday things got worse. People started storming everyone's houses. And if they went against them the father of the family would die. And if there was no father the eldest son was put to death infront of the whole family as a warning.
I lived with my mom Cathee Jones, my dad Robert Jones, and my little sister Jasmine Jones. When it all started to go further and further in chaos Jazz (Jasmine's nickname) was just 4 years old.
Now I am 17 she was just 9. Life holds many disappointments and many happy things. We can dream of the happy things and wait for the rest. I'm not able to dream anymore. All things leading to joy is gone now. And they will never return.
Maybe I'll go tomorrow.
The sun drooped and I started to get things ready for the night. I hated the night. Nothing good ever came from it. The animals like to hunt at night.
"Well, crap" said my son.
"What could have caused this?" I stuttered. In the distance, we saw armored trucks pouring out soldiers and medical professionals.
"Well, should we join them?"
I opened my mouth to speak...
I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to join them. My son was next to me staring at all the people rushing around talking and helping one another with whatever needed to be done.
I walked into the crowd to help a nurse carry out some equipment, she looked at me and smiled. Handing me some equipment and telling me where to put them, I walk over, equipment in hand and dump them onto the table where another nurse.
"Hey" I said....
“Hello. I-I wish to help.” I broke my gaze from the injured below.
A man stood by her side in a uniform of the same shade as all scattered assisting on the field. She tuttered in some unfamiliar and gruff tongue to him, he nodded, taking her place beside the wounded as she turned her attention to me.
The woman pursed her thinned lips. “You..” Her creased brow lowered as if searching for the words. “You..English...Barrette.” She pointed further down the field. “She speak..You.”
“Pardon? How-what can I do.” I stammered.
The woman took my shoulder in a vice like grip. Pulling me down as a wave shoot over the field.
“Shell.” she spoke. Her fearless eyes once again met mine.
She pointed ahead,"Barrette."