The shelter was cold, damp, and empty feeling. At the beginning of the wars, the shelters had been packed with people, everyone trying to have a good time and stay warm. But many people had been drafted, and most didn’t return. The ones who did return were so inept; they didn’t even care enough to go down to the shelters. They often hoped that they’d be killed there, a painless, quick death… or an agonizing one, whichever they could get, whichever would end their misery. The wars, they broke you. Not just physically, mentally. They crushed your very being. Noah had seen the breaking happen herself, in her father. She watched as he aged right before her eyes, each day looking like it caused a year of difference, each month its own century.
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Kaley Wood
Young author aspiring to be something great one day. I only post excerpts on here, sorry! ArchivesCategories |