Dear Diary

Today the hoppers discovered our weapons shed, and destroyed it. For months, ever since “The Attack” we had to deal with the hoppers. They were presumed to be aliens from another planet. The United States were gone first. As a sign. The survivors formed individual resistance groups. Remnants of tattered armies who tried to fight against them in the initial attack. We are part of the” Confederacy of the Right”; a resistance group that mainly dealt with one job in mind, staying alive. I don’t know much about the “Hoppers” as they call them. All I know is that without them the whole world would be a lot better. My dad is a regular soldier, just like the rest of the men. The Captain says when I grow up; I will be a man and be part of the resistance army. But I don’t want to join. I stay at the infirmary with my mother. I have seen things a child should not see. Torn arms and tattered limbs, bodies and bodies ripped to shreds. It makes me sick. This book is my only glimpse of a regular childhood. This is my sanity. I dream the same shared dream of freedom. I dream that one day we will be able to fight back and win. But I don’t know. We no longer have any weapons, nor the means to get them. I suppose we can ask the camp down the river if they have any, but my dad warns me to stay away from them. He tells me not to divulge myself into diplomatic problems. My father just wants what is best, a true father. But I lost my true self a long time ago. An incident I don’t like to recall. I have heeded his warning and threw it to the wind. I follow no laws and am bound to no rules. I followed the river, down to the edge of a great big boulder. I touched the large striations that ran across the rock. I looked at the river, clear, blue water; dirtied with pebbles and dirt and whatever else the stream could carry. I looked at my reflection and in disgust splashed the water. Fond memories flowed into my head. Once, maybe once I might have played in the water, and get scolded by my parents, but I was more mature now. In times of war there is no fun and there is no play. I saw the smoke that blew from the campfire. The gray smoke was clear to see in the deep blue sky. I followed the smoke until I reached a small clearing. The camp. I saw a great big tent, bejeweled with two large eyes with no pupils and two long pike like weapons; I presumed they were the eyes of the hoppers and the weapon used to kill them. I went over to the tent. To my surprise I saw no one there. Millions of thoughts raced in my mind. Were they attacked? Perhaps they fled and could not pack up in their haste? As I approached the tent, I saw that the two long pikes were in fact two spears, rusted to oblivion. This kill had been made a long time ago. I felt the skin of the tent. It was of something soft, a bear perhaps? But my thoughts were all speared when I entered the tent. In the tent was a the carcass of a bear used as a carpet; bloodied with a human. The man lay face up with slashes on his body and limbs. The gashes were huge, about two feet long. I had seen slashes like these before. They were by the hoppers. I had learned some basic doctoring skills while being in the infirmary. I checked his pulse and was surprised to see he was alive. His wounds were fresh and he was bleeding profusely but he was alive, for now, I had to act fast. First with some great difficulty I brought him to the river bed. There I lay him down and went back to the tents to forage for a first aid kit. I was lucky to find one in a small red tent, which was clearly an infirmary for them. I hurriedly rushed back to the man. I had taken out the antiseptic bottle and started to clean the large wounds. It was hard and diligent work. But I managed to clean the wound and dress it. I found some bandages and wrapped it around him. He would be fine for now but he would need some serious medical attention. I searched around to find any more stragglers, who were by some chance hit. No one. I carried the man and put his arm around my shoulders. It was a long distance to the camp and carrying him didn’t make the job easier. When I got back to camp I was awaited by the afternoon patrol. They escorted me in and took the body off my hands. I followed them into my second home, the infirmary. The infirmary had a pungent aroma, which always stuck on your shirt. A combination of blood, medicine and vomit filled the air. It’s okay if you are used to it but a combination like that is deadly. Past the benches and curtains were the beds, some of these I knew by heart and knew the sad truth of them. They would never be able to leave here, but I smiled and waved just like every other time. I realized that they had no empty beds and that they would have to put him in the waiting room; a room with old newspaper as a bed. I saw my mother, a doctor who went in and operated on him. I waited for hours, until my mother came out, sighing. She addressed me “Why did you go down to the river bank?” “You know you aren’t allowed down there!” and another million question were asked, not about the patient but about me, if I was fine. A true mother knows what is best for her child. I finally talked to her and asked her the patient was. She stopped, looking away from me and said” The patient is dead, he was not treated in time and the blood loss and the infection from the gashes killed him” “There was nothing else I could do” I nodded and walked out. As I approached my room, I looked in the mirror, and once again I saw my reflection. But there in my reflection I saw a child. A child with a bloodied shirt, a dirty face and tears that rained from his eyes. And once again I broke the reflection, the shattered noise of glass echoed. I was tired I needed rest, and so I slept, I cried and I slept.