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Barrage

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Randy Dary
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17 views1 page

Barrage

Fiction

Uploaded by

Randy Dary
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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Barrage

We huddled on the floor in the corner beside my bed in the room we shared, my brother and I.
He breathed rapidly; I told him to take slow breaths, but each time we heard a bomb or felt a
.concussion, he breathed faster, almost panting

He said aren’t you scared? I said yeah I’m scared. He said you don’t act like it. I was trying not
to be scared, the big brother, protecting. I was nine years old, he was five but we were both
.getting much older, older by leaps, as the barrage continued

?Would we live to see another birthday? Another day

Our parents had sent us to the room. They heard the sirens, they knew what it meant, knew what
was coming. There had always been a war but for my whole life until then there had been
nothing like this. Our parents knew, though. Their lives had been punctuated by it. Hiding under
desks in school or along walls which might not collapse and bury you. Going to college,
protesting the enemy, the government, in fear of our own police and armies along with fear of the
.enemies

So many enemies. Did we have no friends? Why does someone not fix this? Defiance? There are
a lot of us, we will prevail, God is with us, He will protect us and smite our enemies. Where are
.you, God? Who is smiting who? God, smite them now, before we are smited to death

A bomb dropped so close. We heard a whistle as it approached, then a ghostly silence before a
tremendous explosion. The walls and bed and everything shook, my brother whimpered and
.pressed closer to me. I hugged him tightly, holding him together, holding myself together

Dust or dirt or the very walls and ceiling drop on you, around you, like snow but not snow,
deadly, your world coming apart. Smells of earth and the very building and sweat. My brother
.has wet himself, I think

You wait for the last one you will hear, imagine it dropping right on your house, your room, your
head. Imagining. Maybe that’s the worst of it because it builds fear, and fear destroys almost as
.much as the bombs. Maybe more

Then there is silence. Can I hear after that last one? Now I hear explosions but farther away, and
farther, quieter. The bombers have moved on. I hear Mother and Father calling for us, their
.voices trembling, fearful, so I answer, call out Yes, we are all right

.Of course we are not. We will not be for a long time, maybe never

.But we are alive, at least for now

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