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 |  A folder for my writing August 2017 & July 2016 |
| 825 words I noticed the town square filled with people, not just everyday people but soldiers and armored vehicles. I stopped short. So, it was happening. The call to war had arrived at our town, and all I wanted in life was to be a soldier. I wondered if the letter my mother took such care to hide from me was the one calling me here, to this square. Wasn’t she worried about the consequences of what could happen to a person like me who had enlisted and was now being called to war? What is it about mothers that they tell you to do the right thing, and when you do it, they try to stop you? Didn’t she see that I was a grownup, an athlete, and I was much taller than her? I thought about the conversation we had after I had enlisted at a government site online. Mom’s eyes opened to perfect circles as if botoxed, “You didn’t!” and she slapped her cheek with her hand. “I did! It is the only moral thing to do when our country has declared war.” “Stuff your morals. We’re the good guys,” she said, mockingly. Then she looked at me straight in the eye. “Fighting in a war doesn’t make you moral. Resisting killings is what good guys do. That med school that you want to attend. That should be your only concern.” I did not care for her ideas. That fact about med school, however, mildly disturbed me. I decided not to tell Mom anything but just leave to go to war. Then, the strategy had to be to get my stuff without her noticing it. Knowing Mom, this wouldn’t be an easy feat. But first, I had to find out if I was on the call list. I crossed through the crowd, bumping the people out of my way. There it was, a large van in the middle of the square. At a metal table with two men, one of them in uniform, sitting on chairs behind it. There was a long line of people in front of the table. One of the men was jotting down some stuff on a pad while the other entered some data into the laptop in front of him. I neared them. A soldier stopped me. “You have to get in line, please.” “I just want to ask something.” “In line!” And he pointed to the end of the line. Shortly after 40 minutes, my turn came. “Your name and year of birth,” the man in uniform asked. “I’d like to know if I was called,” I said. “There is a problem with my mail.” “Your name and year of birth!” he said crossly. “Your name first.” I told him my name. “You’re not on the list,” he said, checking through the computer. “You’ll receive a mail from us when your turn comes. NEXT!” Jeez! Didn’t I just tell him I had difficulty with receiving my mail? Everything seemed to be in place at home, and Mom was her usual self, questioning me where I was and if I wanted Cool Whip on top of my ice-cream dish. To catch her off-guard, I asked right out. “Mom, what was in the letter you didn’t want me to see, yesterday?” “What letter?” “The letter you didn’t want me to see. You folded it and put it in your pocket.” “Why are you so nosy? Why do you have to know every single thing?” “Because things concern me.” “Oh, Okay. I’ll tell you.” She sighed. “I didn’t want Joseph to be a bad example, but you’ll hear it anyway?” Joseph was my cousin, two years older than me, and he was a real cool guy. “Did he enlist, too?” Go, Joseph! “No, silly! Your aunt Donna wrote they had to go get him from the police station for underage drinking. She wrote to me in case I didn’t want you overhear us on the phone.” She reached to the top of the fridge and pulled the letter from under the large bowl standing high up there. Yes, that was the envelope I had seen her hide. So, the fridge-top was one of her hiding places. I made a mental note of that. I opened the envelope and looked at Aunt Donna’s crooked handwriting. What Mom said checked just fine. “So, it wasn’t from the government,” I murmured. “What for?” “I thought they’d call me after I enlisted.” Mom looked at me with pity and shook her head from side to side. “Kenneth, our government doesn’t send thirteen-year-olds to war.” Oh, well, maybe she had a point. Maybe I should divert my attention to interstellar exploration, exobiology, or exobotany. Maybe after I could think of a way how to fill lifeless planets with rivers, winds, animals, plants, and create technology, they would accept me as a soldier. For now, though, I should make do with producing my Algebra homework without any mistakes. ---------------- Prompt 1: Use the following piece of dialogue in your story: "Stuff your morals. We're the good guys." Please bold it to make it easier for the judges to spot. ~ Story |
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