When we went to war, I didn’t worry about anything. Our little town wasn’t affected, so I didn’t care. If you turned on the news, the only thing you saw on it was war, so we turned off the news. It was pretty easy to lie to ourselves. We didn’t want to believe that people were dying, so we didn’t.
That was the downfall of us.
My mother once told me that if we don’t see it, and feel it, and experience it, we don’t think about it. The war was so far off, we said, it didn’t matter what happened.
I got my first taste of how “far away” the war really was on my fourteenth birthday. While walking away from school, the ground started shaking. Softly at first, then with more and more force, the ground rocked from side to side. Buildings all around me started to crack, and soon enough, we heard the planes.
It was as if cannons kept getting shot right next to you, in quick succession and you felt the shock wave right down to the marrow of your bones. The raid went of for a number of hours; its deadly symphony destroying people’s lives, just to make its discordant harmony. Those musicians continually played their music, until there was no one left to hear it.
Soon, they left. The town was nothing more than a pile of rubble, and I was the only survivor.
When we went to war, I didn’t worry about anything. Our little town wasn’t affected, so I didn’t care.
Now, I do.
Lost and Sleepy Community Member 
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