Dark themes: Death, Suicidal thoughts.

Sirens are wailing, people are screaming, and all I can feel is fear.

I barely register the crowd around us as we run to the nearest shelter. I'm afraid that we won't make it, that we'll be no more than charred corpses in a matter of minutes.

We run.

The nearest shelter is full, yet people keep banging its metal door. I know they won't open it. That they won't for fear that whatever rations in there will be too quickly depleted if others are allowed to enter. Screams and pleads are useless, but they want to live. I feel like breaking down, but I can't. I follow my friend as he leads me away from the crowd.

Through running, we manage to get there in a minute. It's an abandoned house, but that's not why we were there. The old house had a basement, not a very deep one, but better than nothing. We hurry down the creaking steps to the cold cellar we had prepared. The shelters were preferable, but we anticipated the slim chances of not being able to enter. Inside, there was enough food and water last us a few days. Old bed sheets and a few lumpy pillows make a temporary bed. Flashlights and spare batteries filled a backpack in the corner. It wasn't much, but it would last.

I hugged my knees as I sat with my back against the wall. I prayed that my family was alright, hoping that since their offices weren't that far, they could be some of the first to arrive at the shelter. My friend copied me, also praying for his family's survival. I could still hear the faint sound of sirens warning the people of the imminent danger.

"I'm going back out."

My eyes widened with disbelief. "Are you insane?! If you go out there, you're as good as dead!"

"I can't just let those other people die," he said determinedly. "I can convince at least one of them to come here. We can make the supplies last for a little longer."

I saw the look in his eyes, he wasn't going to back down. "Fine," I sighed. "But I'm coming with you."

"No, you're staying. I'm faster than you. You won't make  it if you go, but I can."

"Just because you won every race we ever had doesn't mean that I'm going to let you go alone."

"And I'm not going to let you follow me."

I glare at him, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. "You're just going to leave me here? After all the trouble we went through to prepare? I know you want to save them, and I do too. But I won't let you leave for something that can only end with death!"

He looks at me sadly. "I can't forgive myself if I let them die." He turns around to the staircase.

I watch him go up. Every step I hear is painful. My mind is a mix of anger and concern. I quickly run after him to see his hand on the front door. Without another word, I hug him. He stiffens at first, bit he slowly hugs me back. I'm crying but I don't care.

"Hurry back, alright?"

He unwraps his arms and holds my hand. With a sad smile he lifts his other hand, its pinky sticking out. "I promise to return before anything happens."

I use my free hand to interlock my finger around his and shake it. "I promise not to follow you, even if you're being an idiot for going alone." I return the smile as I say the words. I don't want him to go, but I don't want a last memory of him to be about fighting either.

I watch him as he opens the door before slamming it shut. I want to just stay there, to just wait on this side of the door until he returns, but I force myself to return to the basement. Alone now, I break down. I don't want to be alone here, to be alone for God knows how long. I watch the stairs, wishing that he would return, with or without a stranger. I just want him here safe instead of risking his life trying to save someone.

Why did there have to be a war? Why did the innocent have to be hurt? Why?

Everyone knew that a war was raging, but nobody expected them to drop bombs so quickly. When we heard that one of the neighboring cities was bombed, everyone became scared. The shelters were built, sirens were made, and everyone practiced for what would happen.

But practice can never replace the real thing.

When the sirens began their cry, everyone thought that it was a joke. But then the speaker crackled to life and the mayor's voice was heard, panic spread like wildfire. No one cared to recall the instructions. It was every man for himself . I recalled the waves of people desperately looking for safety. There should have been enough for everyone, but the fear-filled minds would barely think of the safety plans; rather, they just rushed to the nearest shelter.

As soon as my friend and I heard about the war, we began preparations. We used our allowances to make a stash of canned good and bottled water. We took our old bedsheets and dragged them down here to be safe. The other children thought that we were crazy, but we didn't want to die.

Suddenly, the ground shook violently. My heart raced. It was starting, the bombs were being dropped!

Boom!

I covered my ears from the thunder-like sound. I looked at the stairs. No one was coming down.

Where are you?

A new stream of tears ran down my face as I knew what had happened. He wouldn't be coming back. He broke his promise.

He was dead.

~~~

The next few days passed by in a blur. I ate, I drank, I slept. I was a little more than a robot. I felt broken. I hated the booming noise that notified me of every bomb as it made impact. More than once, I wished that it would just hit the house so that my suspense would end.

My prayer wouldn't be granted.

Despite the truth, I still hoped for my friend's return. Every time I heard a sound, I looked at the staircase with hope. I would hear his joyful voice teasing me as his footsteps echoed down.

It was all just my imagination.

I would continuously look at small pictures whenever I was awake. One was of my family, one was of his, and the last one was of the two of us when we were younger. I wished my family was here, I wished that he was here. His happy face was painful to see, but I was scared that I would forget it.

Why did you leave?

My sleep became torturous. My nightmares scared me with their gory images. My dreams gave me painful reminders of my family and my friend. I would wake up in a cold sweat and cry. The worst part was that at the end of each, I would see him. He would haunt me, ask me why I didn't convince him to stay.

Why didn't I?

~~~

One morning, I decided to leave. Days had passed since the last attack. I couldn't stay cooped up forever. After gathering the remaining food, stuffing the backpack with extra batteries and the flashlights, and carefully wrapping the pictures (Still in their frame) with a bedsheet, I ascended the stairs.

I had to push aside some wood that had fallen during the attack to get out of the staircase. The windows' glass was strewn about the floor alongside the beams from the floor above. The once old but sturdy wall was thin as cardboard and lined with cracks and holes. When I pushed the door, it fell forwards, along with a section of the wall. I cringed at the cloud dust that flew up from the fall. When it cleared, I wished that I hadn't come up.

All the houses were either blasted to bits or missing entire sections of walls and roofs. The air was stuffy and full of dirt and ash. I had to cover my nose and mouth with the top of my shirt to breathe. Any trees that once stood were incinerated. Not even the stumps remained. But the worst part was the ground itself. In great patches I could see piles of bodies. They were all turned into a giant mess of charred flesh amd bones. I realized that they were in the areas where people had been begging to be let in. With a wave of nausea, I realized that my friend was probably in one of those piles too.

I don't know how long I just stood there, taking in the carnage, but I eventually forced myself to move on.

With a deep breath, I forced myself to move on. I was tempted to knock at the shelter doors, but I realized that they were all probably still deep underground. No one would bother surfacing until the rations were all consumed. I looked around me, but the scenery was all the same: destroyed houses, burnt vegetation, and corpses.

I decided to check if my family was possibly alright. Walking to my block, I crossed an area that used to have a playground. The playground equipment were chunks of warped metal or melted plastic, but that wasn't why I felt sick. I remembered what I learned about the atomic bombs dropped in Japan. Apparently the explosion was so great that the victim's silhouettes were burned on the ground. Here and there, I could see the shadows of children. Two were burned on the ground where the swing set once stood. Where the sandbox used to be, a few shadows of crouching children were imprinted. Near the edge of the playground, I saw the silhouettes of an adult and a child. It looked as if a mother was trying to pull her child to safety.

I brought out the photo of my friend and I. It had been taken here, when war was unthinkable. The people in the background were laughing and playing. I imagined how this area was struck. I remember that it was sunny, the perfect kind of weather for picnics or just staying outside in general. The children were probably just playing, too young to even understand what war was. They would be scared, maybe cry at the sound of the sirens, but not run. A young lady would grasp her child's arm to rush to a shelter, then everything would be burned. I pushed the macabre thought away as I continued my walk.

My house was just as razed as the rest of the town. It's once white walls were charred black. Soot and ashes coated the lawn. The door fell just as easily as the one in the abandoned house. I was thankful that I lived in a one-story building. I managed to make it to the door in the storage room that led to our own basement. My family had also prepared for survival.

But it was empty.

The cool air was welcoming to my chemical-filled lungs, but it was stale. Plentiful but untouched supplies lined a shelf. The folding chairs and table were propped up on the wall. The only thing out of place was a cellphone in the middle of the room. When I picked it up, I saw that it's screen was cracked, as if it was hastily thrown down. A soft beep could be heard as I turned it as I checked the messages. The last one was dated on the day of the attack, sent a little bit after the sirens were activated.

I opened it.

Please, I hope that your alright. Your mother and I are in the shelter with your siblings. We pray that you too, are safe. Please, respond if you can. We love you,

I sighed in relief that they were okay. I tried to send a message back, but it kept failing. The communication towers must have been hit. I gave up and just left a message on the writing screen, hoping that if something happens, the battery would last until the shelters opened. A part of me wanted to just wait there until my family would come, but another part of me needed to know how broken the world was. It was the same kind of twisted interest that makes people look at things that are horrifying, even if they get nightmares from it. I fastened one of the gas masks to my face so could breathe freely. Leaving my backpack behind, I returned to the ruined town.

I used the route that I usually walk on to see the damage. The only thing standing out from the charred houses and bodies was the occasional clump of steaming car metal or more shadows of the dead. I missed the lively noise of the town. There was no more laughter or car horns or chatter or anything. Just the quiet dead in their messy, burnt grave.

My thoughts turned to my life. It seemed that just yesterday, everything was normal. It was a usual summer day. I woke up, ate my breakfast, said good morning to my family and went out for a walk(with the usual be-careful-for-an-attack speech). I met up with my friend and we played some board games at his house to pass the time. Since he kept losing, we just went to the local arcade and played there, with him paying for the tokens. When we went to the park afterward, we talked about what we would do if the bombs came. We reassured each other of the off chance that it could happen and agreed to stick to the plan of our secret safe house.

But he didn't stick to the plan.

Another wave of guilt washed over me for not convincing him to stay.

Why didn't I try harder?

I used the back of my hand to wipe away the tears.

Looking up, I saw that the sky was red, a dark, bloody crimson with the occasional plume of black smoke. The sun began to sink, and I remembered how pretty the sunsets used to be. I loved how the sky would blend pink, purple, orange, or blue to make picture perfect scenes with the clouds. Now, it was just red, as if the sky itself was crying blood at the horror and destruction.

The shadows of broken structures began to get longer, signaling me to get back to my old home. Despite the carnage, going along this route was still painfully nostalgic. We laughed that day as we returned to our respective houses, pointing out the constellations and mocking each other when we miscalled them. I wanted to do that again, even if I would get everything wrong. I know that if I looked up, the red sky would just have turned into a patchwork of the dark clouds and a dark sky. I wondered what my friend was doing now, if he was watching me or enjoying the peaceful glory of heaven.

Before I realized it, I was sobbing on my hands and knees.

I don't care if I'm selfish, I want him here! I want him to be here with me! I don't want him to be dead, to be a pile of bones! I want to see him again. I want another chance. I want another chance.

"Give me another chance!"I scream, but my voice echoes through the empty town. No one hears me, and the only one who can has a plan that I can't even think about. My anger slowly ebbs away to an overwhelming feeling of loneliness.

"I just want another chance..," I whispered, covering my face with my hands. "Please...at least just let me see him again..."

But I knew that that was impossible. Fairytales don't exist, and there's no chance for ashes to just magically come back up to life. I keep wishing, praying, that I can just see him, but it's pointless. The dead are gone, and they won't come back. I lay sprawled out on the sidewalk, not wanting to move. I want death, but my family is still there. I can't just die. I stay there like that until sleep takes me away to nightmares or dreams, all the while I wish for a chance to save my friend.

Please.....just give me another chance...

~~~

It's been years since that day, but the memories of those horrible events are still fresh in my mind. I can't forget the burning world or its charred corpses, even though new roads and houses were built to cover it. Peace eventually came with a treaty with the enemy, so everyone could rest easy now. My friend never turned up. He was given an area in the plaque of a memorial that held the names of all the victims of the attack. I sometimes wonder how life can keep going on, but it did. And as life went on, I had to keep up with it. Days pass and change into weeks, and weeks will change into years. Everyone will want to stop at one point in their path, to just let them rest and linger in the happier spots, but time won't stop moving on, and neither will life . And the only thing I could do was to trudge on. To continue my path.

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A/N: Well, I never thought that I would ever make something that sad or dark. I don't know why Im making this, but now you know why I shouldn't read The Book Thief.

Thank you for reading this! See ya!