I wake up. It’s six o’clock in the morning. There are bombs racing through the sky like an angry mob of hornets. I am running. I decide to skip breakfast, and if I am lucky, maybe I can get a crumb of bread for dinner. There’s no need for lunch, for if I stop I may never begin again. At night I drearily keep running, for if I stop to sleep, I may wake up to a rifle at my neck. I may sleep sometimes though, only because I don’t want to die… stranded. I don’t even know my own name, but I like to call myself Mark Twain. Like the famous writer. As you may have guessed I live in a war torn city. Things are not going too well. Ever since I lost Ma and Pa and little Joe in a fire, I’ve been lost. Where am I ? What year is it? Where am I from? What’s my story? What’s my name? How old am I? My questions could go on and on, forever and ever. So, what am I doing right now? I am sitting criss-cross applesauce on the ground… waiting. What am I waiting for? I would tell you, but as they say if you tell someone what you’re wishing for it won’t come true. I run again, but I stop when I reach my favorite place, the meadow, just outside my town. “ Why?!!’’, I shout out to no one or nothing in particular, “Why must I LIVE like this?!!” I really don’t get life sometimes. That night as I curl up on my new favorite bed, which is a bunch of filled up to the brim trash bags, I see something that makes me feel both grossed out and lucky. A DEAD MOUSE! As soon as I see it, my belly starts to grumble. I quickly run over and chomp the whole thing down. Despite the fact that it tastes disgusting, it will settle my hunger, if only for a little while. Hours pass, then days, and then finally months. I feel cold. I’m chattering. It’s winter alright. A few days later the first heavy blanket of soft snow falls. I chatter more. I sit down, and I try my best to build a makeshift fire. A memory flashes back to me of my mother, softly rocking my brother and I by the warm fire while the snow fell softly outside. She had sung us the same sweet lullaby every single night, but it never got old. The most special thing about it was that she had made it up herself. It was so beautiful the way she sang it. A small tear rolls down my cheek. More bombs dropping shifts the Earth. I practically fly jumping into those trash bags. When the bombs stop dropping, I carefully lift myself out of the trash bags and onto the ground.
“Hey!’’ Somebody calls. “Hey!’’ Again! Oh wait, it’s just old Martin. It’s not like he’s old though, it’s just- we’ve been friends for a while. Or we were friends. Now all he does is tease me. I used to kick him in the shins, and he used to kick me too. It was like our bro code to show that we were tough, but one time I guess I kicked too hard. As soon as he hollered, his mother came out, and shooed me home. So, that’s how it started. That’s how Martin and I became total enemies.
“Hey Martin?’’ I asked. “Yeeeeees?’’ Martin replied. “Go away,’’ I calmly said. “Why?” Martin whined. “Because I said so. Now go!’’ I said quite firmly. “Ok, ok!’’ He said edging away. “I’m going.’’ After the confrontation with Martin, I was quite tired so I fell asleep… standing. Of course I was going to lose balance when I was sleeping! Of course! Why didn’t I think of that before I fell asleep?! I only really realized it when my head hit the ground, HARD. WHAM! “Owww!’’ I cried out in pain. I carefully put my hand up to my head, only to find it- ALL BLOODY! “I need to find a doctor,” I said weakly.
“I can help you!” Martin cried out.
“Really?” I rasped.
“YES!” He cried out again as he quickly ran over to me. Then he ripped off his shirt, and he used it to sop up the blood. “You’ll be ok,” he said sympathetically. “You’ll be ok.”
The next day while Martin was skinning a peach I asked if he remembered my name, and he didn’t answer. All he said was “sorry,” so all I said was “I forgive you.” We did this from dawn to dusk until I finally took a turn to say sorry, and he took a turn saying I forgive you. Finally, we went to bed. I gave Martin his shirt back, all bloody. The next morning we wandered the streets of our crumbling village looking for food like hungry barbarians. I know I said I usually skip lunch, but today was different. Hidden under the ruins of an old building was a treasure so great, that you would have to be stupid to leave it behind. What we found under those ruins was a big beautiful buck! “Look!” I exclaimed to Martin. “FOOD!”
“Yes!” Martin cried, clapping his hands. “Good job,my friend!” I smiled at him then because he had called me friend. After we had each had our share of that plentiful feast, I was full, and I did not want to have dinner anymore. Instead of dinner, he and I took a walk. We talked a lot. And guess what? It turns out that he lost his family too, and in the same fire as mine! He lost all of his siblings! The next day, I think about after the war and I decide that Martin will probably just get adopted and forget all about me, but deep down I know we’ll be friends forever and ever.