The War Has Begun
It could have been different. It should have been different. Everyday the same words crossed the minds of three million, who remembered how it went down, or were told how it did. The story had become a tale to tell the children of the next generation, one of shame, one to show the shallowness of the mind of politicians. One to show that violence is never the answer, and truly showcased the principle of divide and conquer. Billions died, the bright lights of democracy fused, racism dominated the remains of our once beautiful planet, almost killing off more than the war itself, as the idea of an Aryan Race conquered the world. In most cases, survivors are considered the lucky, the fortunate, yet unlucky fits this situation better. The same dreams haunt the surviving,vivid images of the war, the bloodshed. Or dreams of alternate realities, one where the war went different, one where the war never happened, one where Hitler was already dead.
Johnson-MAY 1945:
Static, muffled voices, barely audible. “WWII…..over....Germa…..surrend” Through interpretation, the message is clear. We won, it’s over. I was a mere three months away from enlisting, three months from joining James. A warm smile spreading across the faces of all. The breath that everyone had been holding on to for six years was exhaled. Cheers break out, James, my brother, he’s coming home now. He has to. Now that the war is over, he will come home. I’m sure he is still alive. My brother is so smart and strong, he has to be alive, right?
Serdtse-MAY 1945:
They say it is over. They say we won. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like we have won. He is still there. Stalin still lives, his reign is not over. He took my father from me, a simple man with a simple life. Smiles plastered on everyone’s face, pretending to celebrate this “victory”, behind which a knowing frown of fear-no- a frown of being tired of being afraid, hiding the thoughts of hate towards Stalin. Forced to paint a glorified picture of a horrifying leader.
Johnson-DECEMBER 1945:
He’s not back yet. Maybe he just got caught up in something. Besides, he just left a year ago, and news takes a while to travel, he may even know that it is over yet. Knowing James, that seems possible, so ignorant sometimes.
“Henry?” a voice calls from downstairs, my mother.
“Yes, mother?”
“Dinner's ready, come down, your father is waiting.” It is hard not to hear a sense of despair that has crawled into everything she says. She worries, crying loud enough for the neighbors to hear at night.
“Coming, mother.” I take a look as the picture in my hands one final time before setting it down. People used to confuse us as twins, same muscular build, both towering, he was slightly taller at six foot five. Brown hair shaped into a buzz cut and gray eyes that seem bright yet dull at the same time. It’s too much. I drop the picture and rush down, I miss him.
Serdtse-DECEMBER 1945:
There is a phrase we use to describe the Stalin era, sila strakha, it is hard to put it in English words. The best way to say it would be…. power of fear, yes, that’s it, power of fear. He didn’t rule his people with an iron fist-no- he stomped on them with a golden boot. And if any were left living, they were grateful for any small amount of progress. I fear of what is coming. I know we won, they say it is over, but it is not. It doesn’t feel right.
Lydia
A soft, gentle voice calls me, turning my head as fast as possible.
Lydia
“Otets?” I call out, knowing what will happen next, but still there is a faint hope.
Silence
A single tear drops, too small for anyone to notice, I have learned to control it. Five years, that’s how long it has been. A church bomb, called a terrorist attack, yet all fingers point to the government. Actually, I guess terrorist attack would be the right name, as there is none bigger than Him. The door opens, it is my mother. She worries for me, she worries for all. Gazing at her soft, chocolatey eyes, my anger, fear, and sorrow disappear. Behind her, Alina flashes a toothless grin, clutching onto my mother’s dress. She is young and courageous, but her once bright blue eyes have darkened, reflecting the world around her. She was born in 1939, a mere three hours before it all began. Because of this, many women of the town-who in my opinion have nothing better to do than gossip- deemed her as a sign of bad luck. They were afraid to have their kids in the same class. Superstition, something I have learned to hate. I never understood how anyone could go so far out of their way to homeschool their child just because of superstition. Especially the risk of being caught teaching too much, or not using the required textbook. Because of such diversity, she is just six, yet also much older than me.
Johnson- August 1951:
He never came back. Never. As the years went by, hope faded and desperation did the opposite. He isn’t dead though, there is no way, my brother would know how to survive. Tension has risen, in the house and as well as worldwide. The threat of nuclear war seems very likely. How did we get here? Are we not taught in elementary school that we should not fight because of different opinions. As a child, I admired politicians, the courage it took to step on a global scale and try to negotiate deals with other countries. Now, at age 22, I see the bickering of politicians equals of middle schools, just on a bigger stage. These people barely agree with people of their own country, forget foreign relationships. I see little hope of a better outcome than war.
Serdtse-August 1951:
How long will he reign. This is getting too tense. Why can people not just speak rather than threatening. Strange how the most impatient seen to be the most powerful. Spies on both sides, trying to give their country an edge in a war that isn't a war. A war that isn't war between allies that aren't allies. Why can we not simply try to be more understanding, rather be stubborn and risk so many lives. Gossip of neighbors being traitors are as numbered as drops of water in the ocean. The slightest move, a mysterious phone call, speaking too much in English can set off an alarm. The tension is too much. There seems to be no end.
Johnson- January 1952:
It happened. Shock and disbelief surged through our neighbors as an enormous blast shook the ground. Assumed to be an earthquake, all rushed to the television to see what happened, yet the news greeting us was much different.
A muffled voice announced the first act of war. “A developing story of an apparent attack on California, sources say it was an act of war by the USSR. This has been strongly denied yet it is most likely that they have involvement.”
The scene is cut as a warning flashes on the screen.
TAKE SHELTER UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE BRING ALL ESSENTIALS AND FORMS OF COMMUNICATION
THIS IS NOT A ROUTINE DRILL
The next few words are ones I learned to live by no matter what the situation is.
PREPARE FOR THE WORST AND HOPE FOR THE BEST
The scene changed as the President of the United States appeared. A rather frail looking man who had led the country to the end of WWII. As he spoke, fear and realization dawned upon us, this isn’t any war, this is the war. Mother rushes to pack everything together, we had been prepared for this, we were expected to be by the government. Panic spread in less than a minute as the sounds outside grew louder and louder. Strange, how we had been prepared for this for a long time now, even children were taught in school how to react in this situation, yet when it actually happens, nothing goes according to plan. A quick glance shows neighbors flocking through the street, tripping over each other to get to their bomb shelters.
“My fellow Americans, the USSR has launched its first attack on us. A nuclear bomb just south of San Francisco. This has violated our treaty as allies and thus, with the approval of Congress, war has begun. Take cover in shelters until further notice and whatever you do, do not leave the shelters. The government of the United States of America knows how to handle this situation as we did last time after Pearl Harbor. Do not panic, everything will be alright, but until further notice, stay as strong as can be. Thank You.”
There was no time to reflect on what had just been said, there wasn’t even time to speak. In less than a fraction of a second, the second one made impact.
Serdtse-February 1952:
We live in fear, not only of Him, but of also the US. Stalin took it upon himself to launch the first attack. As he announced it with pride and the people of the Soviet Union cheered him on-as they were forced to- realization passed through all as they realized, the war was never over. As we began to pack everything to move into the community shelter, Alina came up to me.
“Is everything going to be okay?”
I could do nothing but smile at the face of the angel. So much had happened to her, yet there was always so much hope behind that voice. Wiping away tears from her face, I could hardly grasp that she was no longer six, she was twice that now. “Yes, everything will be fine.” A false sense of confidence and a lie that ate away at me for years to come. Then a roaring thunder shook the house, knocking every down as if we were just bowling pins. The war has begun.
Capture the Flag
Johnson- March 1952:
Twenty days. It had been twenty days since the last fight had broken loose. The fight took place between the Donner Family, George and Jacob. How long has it been? How long have we been cooped up in this mere shaving of a house. At least five weeks, probably more. Time ticks slower as the days pass by. We only got out of the shelter once, to lay Mother to rest. Her last words had been I had not been able decode. As exhaustion and stress finally began to overtake her, she collapsed in my arms. We had been on our way through the long tunnel towards the center ration station when it happened. As her deep green eyes fluttered open and close, she faintly muttered something inaudible. As I held her closer, I felt her heart beat become jagged, almost inhumane. Millions of thoughts ran across my mind. She repeated what she had just said, uttering her final words. “Henry….. live for a purpose… ” Such a statement made no sense, at least at the time. The life, the light, the thump of her heart, within seconds it vaporized, disappearing in thin air, all that was left was the shear shape of her body, one of no resemblance to the woman who a taken care of me and devoted her life to me. She was the first death. But not the last.
Serdtse-April 1952:
How ironic, today’s date. April fools’, a day implying humor while what is occurring in broad daylight cannot be put into words. Pure chaos overtook the streets, fear, anxiety, anger, all came together to create the storm, a storm of emotions so basic, yet in this situation, so complex. Many murders, any form of government dissolved. Stalin left, went in hiding, no trace, no warning of further acts. He is still in charge, yet is much safer than his own citizens. His eyes are towards this war, this capture the flag game. With a weaker grip, yet the thought of death lurking everywhere, people are left wondering whether it was better before this begun. The is no shelter, people don’t know how to react, and thus the finger pointed to everyone and anyone. Anyone who stood out, anybody who smiled too much, was immediately suspected of being responsible. It was the people’s way of venting out the anger manufactured through the deprivation of basic human rights. It was the people’s way of fighting back, yet all it did was hurt themselves, hurting other innocence. People became their own scapegoats.
Johnson- June 1953:
Starvation swept the remains of Americans, the once fearless, the once proud. The last strike had hit nearly a year ago, at least I think so, days became harder and harder to keep track of. Time itself had lost its value, what was the point? All calendars had expired, rotting in mold, and dirt, the clocks hadn’t ticked in a long time. All that could help tell the day was the faint change of lighting. Nobody else sees it, they tell me that I’m going crazy, I’m used to it now. While others have deteriorated in health, my senses simply sharpened. My memory becoming vivid to recall the smallest memories of my childhood, as well as my last time seeing… James.
“I’ll be back kiddo.” A smirk passed across his face, a signature one that had been passed down through multiple generations.
“Don’t even try that, I’m coming right after you, keep in mind I’m not that much younger.” I said, very much defensively.
“Relax, you sound like I just offered you a due back in front of mother.”
“Sorry, when are you coming back? Where are you going?”
“ Hey hey slow down, you writing a book or something?”
The conversation had continued back and forth, tormenting and teaseful comments were continuously being exchanged. If only I had taken it more seriously. If only I knew what was going to happen.
There had been three quick knocks on the wooden door leading to our cold concrete shelter, a rare thing as the last visitor had been the health inspectors, who came to collect the body of George Donner, as savagery plagued many sectors. A man, dressed in clothes many would think to no longer exist due to such poverty and low supplies. The suit he had on symbolized hope and jealousy at the same time. He informed me of my brother, placing the pieces together, James had been accused of being a Nazi spy, and had died as a prisoner of the USSR.
Serdtse- Estimated date: June 1953
Death everywhere. My home, my town, in shambles. The last attack was a mere day ago. How do these governments have enough supply to fight, yet nothing for its people. Now, as I, lone survivor of my village march towards hope, I feel something in the air, something that wasn’t there before. It makes me sick, the thought of the damage and the possible repercussions of this.
Johnson-1954
There was an attack on our shelter. It was not external, it was a disease. One caused from radiation, or so they say. Many have died, and so we-my father and I- set out, even though the dangers are vast, anymore exposure to dead bodies would be sure to drive one into insanity, a stage which many are already at, and none can afford.
Serdtse- 1954
I miss my family, this suffering makes the the struggles of dehumanization pale in contrast. No longer able to support myself, I find what I can to eat, sometimes no more than plants, yet everything tastes… strange. I feel sick, mentally as well as physically, of this… this terrible game politicians have played on us. When was war ever the answer? When was a game of capture the flag ever won without someone getting out. Did these politicians not think that if they destroy humanity, what is left to govern?
Johnson-1954
We have nowhere to go, nowhere to turn back to. Our house, dismantled, no signs of life anywhere except for a faint feeling something there that wasn’t before. It’s not just a feeling, it is a fact. Everyday, a new victim of this mystery.
Serdtse- 1955:
Я не могу продолжать. Я надеюсь, что для человеческой расы, чтобы быть в состоянии продолжать, но возможности кажутся мрачными. Война никогда не ответ, просто по-детски истерику. Человечество должно спасти мир от войны или войны будет избавить мир от человечества.
Johnson- 1955:
Every day, another victim. Tomorrow will be my turn, I am sure of it, starvation, thirst, and what people speculate to be newborn beasts, all dominate this planet. This is a war with no end. They said the last one would destroy humanity, yet it was this one, one where people refused to make an agreeable compromise, that will scar humanity if it survives. This is the war that could have been avoided. This is the war, whose only solution became death.
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