The Storm (written at 16 yr old for an exam ~1700wds) - A Blatant Allegory of DSE fighters
The morning zephyr brushed my weary face as I woke up from my sleep. I got to my feet, made my bed, brushed my teeth, had a light breakfast. Somehow the television was already on. The news anchor kept on muttering the same lines over and over again.
"The Storm is approaching from South West, 2 kilometres away from the City, set to hit us by 10 am..."
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Staring at the shadow of my mother behind the kitchen door, my eyes watered inexplicably. My baby sister appeared in front of me, glancing at me with here innocent, beady eyes,
"Where are you going?"
"I'm heading towards my end," I eked out a grin. "Sooner or later I'll be gone, and you shall see me no more. Years shall pass and you will forget about me. You will forget you'll had a brother, and you will not miss me anymore."
Her face grew pale, and the smile of her face vanished. "But ... why? Why won't I miss you? Where are you going?"
"For the sake of my future, my dear, and for the sake of our society. You'll never know such thing at your age, neither did I when I was you back then. But take care, dear lad. Take care..."
Donning my armor of white, the black belt and socks, I gazed through the window to look at the amassing, darkening clouds - an ominous scene to behold. Somewhere the zephyr still flows, through the landscape and all the scenery, through the streets I once crossed and the buildings I once visited. The city is now overwhelmed by a deadly force, and all the traces it left behind will be soon be there no more. The zephyr will soon become strong, tormenting wind, and there will not be anything left of its once gentle, caressing nature.
Stepping through the doorway, I kissed my dwelling goodbye. I could hear weeping sounds from the back of the door, and I could sense tearing from my mother. All these years, vestiges and memory came rushing into her mind, and so did mine. Warriors must not get visceral. I must go. I cannot let personal emotions disrupt my war.
"'The Storm' is coming," I reminded myself, "I must be on time for the batter. I must not loiter."
Mild drops of rain fell on my head as I raced across the street. I was granted no helmet, but at least I was given an umbrella. Waiting at the stop. I received messages from my friends, photographs of them wearing their armor with the same sullen look on their faces. My friends did helpd me a lot. We shared some of the happiest moments of our lives. Now I have to leave them behind and not look back on the happiness we shared together. After exchanging tearful messages, I switched off my phone as my tank arrived. There was a slim chance for us to meet at the same destination. We had finished what could turn out to be our last conversation.
"Where are you going, young lad?" The tank driver questioned.
Raising my head, I spoke in a desiccate tone.
"The Centre. Centre of the imminent storm. You know that don't you? Like everyone aboard. We are fighters, and we are heading there."
Silence prevailed inside the tank. Sadness, despondence filled the air and everyone was staring blankly at the floor. I took a seat, glancing around to note that all of the people are wearing different types of armor. There had different logos, different color, meaning that none of us know each other as we were possibly from different military division. In the past, we used to combat with each other, but those were just for fun. This time things are different. We arefacing a common adversary like nothing we had ever met before. Sure we faced a lot of other storms in our career but none of them were life-or-death matters. None of us have the courage to enter the "The Storm" undaunted.
"Anyone still remembers life?"
I was shaken by the voice, so did everyone around me.
"My life used to be perfect," muttered someone else, "my family and I were close. We used to go on vacations and laughed together. We were intimate , until years ago, when I was informed of the 'The Storm' arrival. I was forced to do chores, and I had no family, no left. I have nothing to lose when the day comes now."
"I remember too," said another. "There were times in my life when I couldn't think of anything that would go wrong. My friends loved me and I had a lot of fun playing basketball and swem...loving nature. I could fish back then too. You know, I had plenty of time."
"As the conversation endured I stared through the window vacantly. The tank was getting nearer and nearer to the centre of "The Storm", but the further it proceeded the less I know where I was, and the direction I was heading to. My vision blurred as the rain exacerbated and the sky went dark with raindrops turning into solid bullets. Apparently it was "The Storm", as it rained gunfire at us from above. We had our armor and our tank, and we are unmolested by the raid.
"The first time I entered my division, I thought I could be great. I had talent and I had potential. I thought I could shine and be famous at a young age, be the prodigy my powers could allow me to. But my dreams were wrecked by all these wars, and chores and all sorts of nonsense. My life was half shattered by the division, and now I leave myself to "The Storm" which shall finish up the rest of me. You know, lads, I could have been a contender. I could have been somebody, instead of a bum."
Oh yeah, I thought to myself. I saw that film before. Reminds me of the old days.
"You know what's wrong with this compulsory military programme?" A voice came up, "it's that they never get to understand who we are. Everyone of us is special, not a robot programmed to fight and follow their order, instructions. That's the reason why some fight better than others, and that's not the whole picture. Listen to you guys. I understand a lot of you had abilities, full of brilliance and gleaming with potential. You guys are versatile, but the society never cherishes you, neither do they fonder quality talents who you are. All they want to see is us winning the war and us get promoted to medical generals or legal generals, so they can extol us, and to venerate us, even though such is not what we want the most, or at least for me. I, myself, do not yearn for reverence. I want my life back. I want to go back in time and leave this society so steeped in prejudice and callousness. I want happiness that comes of liberality. I...want my family..."
Again I could sense tearing. There were the tears flowing down from eyes of young men, young warriors that were going to be wasted in the battlefield. Piercing lightning followed by a crash of thunder. Their watery eyes were lit up, then my senses were numbed by the clamorous boom. Bullets clattered, and I saw them fell, and suddenly I remembered: My mother, smiling as she led me to my primary military centre, caressing me as I cried when she said she would have to leave me, "Sweetheart, you will soon be great. You will succeed and we will be pround of you. But first, now, you must learn to be independent and leave us behind. All the life you lived shall be gone, and you'll realize your new purpose."
I never thought that would be true. It's my turn to leave her now.
Stepping out of the tank, I raised my umbrella. For the first time I saw "The Storm" myself, a prodigious thundercloud shadowing a military centre, inside which a gloomy atmosphere lurked as if "The Storm" had taken its form. Deadly as it appeared, and I shivered in trepidation upon viewing. Our army has come for "The Storm".
Suddenly my phone beeped, I took it out. To my surprise it was a message from my mother.
"Dear son. I will never see you again. I just want to tell you that even though you may not be able to remember the times we share together. I love you. Don't be afraid. no matter win or lose. We are proud of you and we will miss you!"
I couldn't hold back my tears and it rained before my eyes. Tears melded with the raindrops and I could no longer see the centre, and what's in front of me, on my way of life. I could only go forward, just keep heading forward...
"You have a choice, son," a voice rang out. I stopped, hesitated as I dried off my tears. There was a stranger standing right next to me, amid the rain and letting it pour over his head. His face was blurred behind a curtain of raindrops, and in his hands held a ticket, as he grinned and said.
"You life can be different. Here I hold an airplane ticket. With this you can go anywhere, to countries you've always want to go. You can escape this treacherous hell, and the imminent death you are callously pushing yourself towards. Accept my offering, or you would have to join all the people of your age and meet the end of the line. Come to me, and I'll give you the ticket."
I stood for a long while before I started to reach out.
But then I froze at th epoint. Voices of my mother, my friends, all the companions I'd just met, circled around me.
I realized I was not alone.
"No. You wither die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. I choose to die with my friends, and I cannot become the person you said I am if I join you."
And so I turned for the centre of "The Storm". Formidable it might seem, I believe I can win the war.
