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The memoir of a 17 year girl. A war civilian.

Short story By: sitting ponderer
Young adult



Ok, so last night i got this idea about writing a fictional shory story. Sort of a memoir about a 17-year old girl; who is a civilian of war. The main reason of this poem is to bring forth the actual disasters a war brings. Please do comment on it because i know i need to improve my writing.


Submitted:Sep 11, 2008    Reads: 162    Comments: 2    Likes: 1   


It was a just another beautiful day. Everyday reminds me of heaven: high sunrise, clear skies, cold breeze slithering my skin. I wanted to do something different today; who knew God had already planned an aberration?
I was feeling really hungry. I just grabbed whatever junk I could out of the fridge and started gazing outside the window. The nature always inspires me; it always does. Oh, I think I didn't tell you this: I am a writer. It has been my passion since grandpa died. His death brought a strange sorrow over me; I think it was his death which brought me this gift.
After I finished up my breakfast; I started writing this novel I have been writing for about two months now. It's titled as "The cry of a mother"; corny name isn't it? It's about this tragic incident a mother had to face. I've showed my work to my parents, my friends and many other people; I have always got a unanimous answer "you are great". I think I have got what it takes to make a career as a writer.
Needless to say, a girl of my age, 17, has also got many other chores in her life. I LOVE playing with dolls; although I am a little big for dolls, but I just can't get over them. Some of friends think I am a little immature of my age, but hey, not everybody comes to expectations.
It wasn't until 11 am that I started getting tired of writing. After about an hour of writing, I knew I had to straighten my back; it was hurting as hell. I've got a little garden of my own: Bunch of roses and other good smelling flowers. It was here that I lost my identity…
It was like someone just slapped me. I've never ever felt such an excruciating pain in my life. The very next minute, I was feeling totally relaxed; very peaceful. It was a horrible scene. Or may I say the worst of my life. In front of me, lay my own destroyed city. The beautiful sun was now gone: the smoke had covered every bit of it. The fragrance of a usual day was smeared with dust and pollution. And as I gazed up, I understood what brought this hell: WAR. I saw planes bombing my whole city. A sudden nostalgia started coming. The one's we feel at the time of death. I was in a state of panic. I started to contemplate my lost. All the homes I once used to go, all of my friends, my dear school. Oh, my best friend… It was too much to take; I started weeping and screaming. World seemed to me as hell on earth. There was barely anybody on streets; what an unusual sighting in my dear land?
I couldn't stop crying; it was so sudden. People died in a swipe. So rapidly snatched of their lives; the ones they must've been planning for years. Infants had a whole life in front of them. Teenagers were no different, they were about to enter in adulthood. Many fathers, mothers, sisters, aunts, grandparents, best friends, peers, servants, everybody died for what?
After I got over my crying, I knew I had to go and search for my close ones. As I looked down, my whole world started spinning. I felt so weak. Right there, the whole ground was smeared in my own blood, and... I had no legs. My body from waist beneath was there in between the rebel. It was like a thud in my heart. I couldn't contemplate what was happening. I tried to move my body; tried my best. After a bit of struggle, I started to move. In such a way I've never felt before. It was like I was flying. I couldn't understand a thing; it was like a fairy tale coming true. As I flew a few meters, I turned around and looked at what once used to be me. What I used to gaze every single day of my life, it was my own torso… My face was blown; I couldn't even recognize my own face. My clothes; the ones my father bought me last week on my birthday were torn from uncountable place. I started weeping again, my beautiful face that once existed was now covered with flees and insects; eating it away.
Why did they do this to me?
My land didn't do anything?
What right you had to kill us?
My father was killed!
My mother was killed!
My whole ambitious career was ruined!
I can't write anymore!
I can't marry anyone!
All the years of fun ahead of me, gone in few seconds!
Many lost his/her sister!
Many lost best friends!
Hadn't I any right to live on this land?
I never even spoke ill of you!
P.S: War kills; please stop them!




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