(May '16) Prompt #2 - "Never Again!" [Archive]

m139

05-31-2016, 11:07 AM

Never Again
Part 3 of the May Series

Part 2 (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=81253&p=2786192&viewfull=1#post2786192)

Dear Diary,

Today, I got a reminder from when I began to keep you, many, many years ago. A man called the other day, saying his name was Bill and asked if I could try to identify someone in a photo he had found. He told me he thought I might know, but he was not sure. And he told me it might be painful, as it showed some of the casualties of the attacks. When I went to his office to go see the picture, I could never have guesed who it was. It was a picture of two people, lying dead on a street, side by side. And, even after all these years, I recognized them- my mother and brother. I froze up then, I believe. I mean, I had always assumed that they were dead, but it is quite a different thing between thinking and knowing. Somehow, if you have never seen the final verdict, you can still hold on to the hope that somehow... somehow...

Do you remember when I was but a little girl? You do, or at least your paper of one of your precursors do. And you probably have some reference to it within you as well. But if not, I will remind you. After all, I cannot stop thinking of it, especially after I was reminded once more...

I was scared then, right after the missiles hit. When everything was suddenly gone. You remember. It was I, my mom, and my little brother. We were in a store then, shopping for a pair of pants fro my brother. Then, outside, we heard a bunch of people screaming, Someone shouted something into the store, and my mom grabbed my brother and me, and we all ran into the street, my brother yelling, "Wait, these aren't my pants!"

But my mom did not stop. And no one stopped us, either. Indeed, the lady at the cash register was not even there when we passed it.

We went out into the streets, and were pushed along with the crowd up one road and then the next. Somehow, I lost hold of my mother's hand. I heard a couple of shouts of "Holly!" and then, I never heard the voice again.

Then came the smoke from the missiles- of course, at that time, I did not know where it came from. All I knew was that I tripped, and when I woke up, the street was empty except for some lifeless forms of those who had once been alive. And then there was me, all alone. I remember standing there, confused in the ruble of what once was a comon shopping place. Most of those areas were still somewhat intact, although broken windows were plentiful. And there I was, alone, not knowing the first thing to do. And so I started walking in the direction I assumed to be home.

I wandered the streets for some days after that, barely holding on to the strings of life, and not quite sure how I did it either. I mean, I know what I physically did: follow others into stores and just took what was left after they had left, found stuff on the streets... Needless to say, those were some rather strange meals, and they left me quite thin. But it was food, after all. And somehow, nothing I ate poisoned me or made me too sick. And when the aid finally came to our city, they found me wandering, again alone.

They did have to do a bit of chasing to get me, though. I, after all, was alone for a reason. People can do strange things when they are desperate, and I never will forget that man beating the other, over and over, just for a box of what looked like pasta...

Luckily, however, when they did catch me, they wanted to help me. And indeed I needed help. Finally, I got proper food, or at least some of it. And there were people who would listen, at least when they had the time. And there were others like me, too. People whose parents had not come back.

I talked to them, and slowly, came back to myself. They gave me you, or rather, the precursor of you, to help write down what I felt and sort out all the mixed up emotions and thoughts in my mind. It helped, some. I mean, I am still alive, right? I suppose you might say I have healed. But I could not be the same child that I was before. I had been wounded, scratched all over. And though the blood had long ago washed away, the scars remained- and they shall remain on me forever, reminding me of that turbulent time. I only wonder if the world will remember...

Already there are some who claim that what happened did not really happen. They are few in number, now. But then again, how long did it take before other wars repeated themselves? They say that we should learn from history, and make sure it does not repeat itself. But we ignore this warning. Surely, we say to ourselves, we cannot have the same things happen. Or, even worse, we rewrite it so that it was not there, or, somehow, glorify the very thing that brings this pain. And it is only a matter of time...

I guess, what I am trying to say in this long winded way, diary, is that I agreed when the man- Bill, you remember- asked if he could arrange a conference between me and this other guy who records stories such as mine. After all, what harm could it really do? The world goes the course that it does, and I, alone, am helpless to stop it. I cannot keep it from happening never again. Humans are, well human beings. But if I tell my story...

Perhaps I by myself can make the light will shine just one extra day. But perhaps Bill can make it shine a day more. And the listener will lengthen it by another day. And the chain may grow and grow...

After all, the darkness I saw could, unhindered, cover the world. But we...

Perhaps all of us together can be the little light that brings a bit of hope as we wait for the dawn.