World War IV

1461 days until I die:
1 January 2052
My comrades and I devoured our mediocre meals. However, to have any food was nearly impossible, and we ate with the condensed, abbreviated joy that was killed almost instantaneously by our pain. Once we were finished feasting on what we could swallow whole, we stood. One would stand, then another, looking about for something, anything, that might catch one's eye. Soon, we were all standing, waiting for someone to lead. We were unable to think for ourselves, because we were simply kids. Kids put in a war against our will. However, our families thought war would "toughen us up, so death is easier," as my comrades would say. However, we all knew the indeniable, unpleasant truth: Nobody loved them. So, as we walked through the empty, desert-like distance to the tuning of faint gunshots and death cries, we knew that the desert would never end, and we would walk forever. Because, even once we died, we'd always be walking, simply to try to outwalk the loveless life we've had.
1440 days until I die:
22 January 2052
I felt for a pulse. Dead. I came to the next body. Dead. Next. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead, dead, and dead. There had obviously been an ambush here. Some of their hearts had been incinerated. Possibly an ambush from Russia or Japan, though it had been announced that Japan was eliminated. This was obviously false. They've announced that several times. Evey single time with me sleeping. Which is part of how I end.
Pregame I:
1 January 2051
"HAPPY NEW YEARS!" Voices flew out of the crowd, scattering nowhere, and ending everywhere. Everyone then wandered undecidedly. I sat in the back of the truck, where they told me to stay while they had the privilege to have fun while I lie down to rest, on the rough, bitter texture. Several hours later, no one had come back, and the Sun was already rising, the Sun was dull and hazy. I was unable to sleep and it was a sweltering night. I had taken off most of my garments. All I had remaining was my underwear and my shirt loosely clinging. At long last, my uncle had returned, it was quite obvious he was drunk. And if any doubts were present, they were extinguished by the driving. Being in the back may be an amazing feeling to some, the freedom of not having any gear, however, it was agonizing to not wear any protection. I felt exposed. And I was! Both literally and figuretively. Physically and mentally.
Pregame II:
2 January 2051
My uncle was reading the daily news. My aunt was smoking outside, simply to avoid making breakfast. A page flipped. I poured my orange juice into a clear container, with tiny spills about. My uncle cleared his throat. I plunged my 6 month old pancakes into the toaster. Another page turned. I sat in the chair beside my uncle. "Whatcha readin' there, uncle?" A grunt. "Why, there must be some interestin' stories in there, uncle." Cleared his throat. I cleared mine. "How's the war?" He got up. "That's enough of that yappering! AND STOP REFERRING TO ME AS UNCLE!" He slammed his face back into the newspaper. I felt his glare burn right through the translucent glass. Then, the glare blinked. I felt it. My uncle stood up. "The war," he paused with a bleak smile, "is fine, except it needs you!"
"Oh, uncle I don-"
"DON'T CALL ME UNCLE! Now, if you're gonna be of any use, you're going to join the war, then we'll have SOMETHING to live off of."
"But, I don't want to join the war."
"Well, I don't, and your aunt ain't. Someone around here gotta do somethin'. And it gunna be you."
"Bu-"
"Hush. I'm reading the paper."
I hushed. I knew if I didn't, he would beat me to a pulp. I wish I could've done something.
SAVED AS DRAFT