I wrote a new story, was meant to be a oneshot but it turned out waaaaay longer, so i'll divide it in several chapters. Hope you enjoy it, i think it's much better than my other two stories:)

I walked to my window to look at the sunset outside and saw the orange and red colours mix with the grey-blue sky. Ever since I was a little child I loved watching the sunset and see its beauty. Sometimes I wonder if the sunset is really the only beautiful thing left in this world. When I looked around me all I saw were the ruins of what once was a city. Now it seems that all that is left in this city are women and bombed houses. All our men have been taken away; some are held prisoners, some were killed here and others were sent to Afghanistan to fight a war that no one can win. I walk back into the living room, the largest room of my little apartment. I see a little statue on the table in the living room. A smile crept on my face as I remembered the day when it was given to me. It was the day before he had to go away, when I had come home from work he had prepared dinner and at the end of the night he had given me a present. When I took of the wrapping I was holding a small replica of the Trojan horse. After he had given it to me he had started talking.

"Gabriella, even though I have to go away, I want you to know that I'll always be with you and that I'll always do everything in my power to come back to you. This horse does not only represent me, but also war and love. I want you to know that I will always fight for our love, because you are my Helen of Troy." Yes, Troy, my Troy, was one of the men fighting in Afghanistan. He was one of the men fighting a pointless war. He was sent there by the American government, together with many other, innocent and young, men. They could not end the war. No one could end the war by fighting. The only results of the fights were dead and wounded innocent people, bombed cities and chaos. It benefited no one, and yet, no side was willing to start peace talks, to give up the fighting, both sides were too proud to accept anything but victory.

I sighed; I didn't even know whether he was still alive. I hadn't heard from him in six months. Six long Months. I knew a lot of American soldiers were killed, but usually family would get a letter from the government when someone died, and I hadn't got one of those letters either. In fact I hadn't heard anything at all. Every night I would dream about him. Every morning I would get up and hope that today I would hear some good news from him, or that he might even be here. But time passed and I slowly started to loose hope. If he would be alive he would surely sent me a letter, wouldn't he? And if he died I was supposed to get a letter as well. He couldn't have died, he is too strong for that. He is my fighter, my survivor. I couldn't help but think about this possibility. At nights I would cry myself to sleep. Christmas had gone and come and I had to spend it without him. No peace on earth, but fights and war in Afghanistan. As long as I didn't get the message he was dead, my hope would continue to exist. I was sure about that.

A few tears leaked down on my face as I thought about him, but I wouldn't let myself cry anymore. He would not have wanted it this way. He would have wanted me to go on with my life and be happy. So I wiped away my tears and decided to go for a walk in the city maybe that would clear my mind a little.

I grabbed my coat and looked in the mirror before I went out on the streets. I saw my reflection, and I knew that it was me, but I didn't look like I used to look. My face was sad, my eyes did not show happiness anymore, and I knew it. I saw the necklace that lay loosely around my neck. The necklace that he had bought me for our 2 year anniversary. It was already 5 years ago, but I could remember the day as if it were yesterday. I could almost feel the happiness I felt then. I could remember exactly what he looked like, how his blue eyes happily twinkled as he gave me the present, how his hair would fall into his eyes because he didn't want to go to the hairdresser, even the way he smelled.

I walked out the front door and onto the streets. When I looked around me I saw the mess made by the bombs. I couldn't believe how people could do this to each other. I could not blame the people that were actually bombing the cities, since they were only carrying out orders. No, I was just really mad at the governments of both countries. They had a problem with each other and let innocent inhabitants of both countries pay for that. After three years of war the army had faced a shortage of soldiers and they had reintroduced conscription. Ever since, the war had caused more and more fighting, more deaths and more problems. The number of people that committed suicide was almost 5 times higher than it had been before and when I looked around the city I would see people with sad faces, their heads hanging down looking at the ground beneath them.

I thought about the dreams I once had, dreams for the future. We would get children, lot's of children. We would have little Troy's and Gabriella's running around the house. All just as handsome and cute as their father. They would get his athletic body but my brains. And I was sure that we would have spoilt them rotten. If only he would be here.

I walked towards the market where I passed several people I knew; Mrs. Gray, the old widow. Her husband had been the doctor that had helped during so many deliveries, including mine; he died during one of the bombings. Mrs. Gray was talking to John, I didn't know his last name, he worked as a teacher at a primary school. He was one of the few men who were still here, since he was a teacher he didn't have to serve in the army. I greeted them while I continued walking. Later I passed little Anna, she was the daughter of one of my old classmates. The little girl was holding a bag of candy and waved happily to me. I smiled at her and continued walking.

I wished there was a way in which I could get to know more about what had happened to Troy. Maybe even get to see him. I knew that it wasn't possible, but I can not loose hope. I remembered what Troy had told me; "Once hope is lost, everything is lost".

I decided that I needed some food for dinner tonight, since I didn't have any food at home anymore. So I went to the nearest supermarket; it was a little shabby shop, and everyday we were hoping that there was enough food to cook a decent meal. Most of the food was sent to Afghanistan to feed – according to the posters - 'our men'. The posters were used to make everyone believe how important this war was, they were all propaganda, but there were still people who believed in it. The Afghani's are our enemies and we're doing a good thing by fighting with them, that's what they wanted us to believe. On my way to the supermarket I passed some posters, some were telling us what they were fighting for, others were asking for nurses to help 'our men' in Afghanistan. Every week there would be new posters placed next to the old ones, new pictures, new photo's, new texts, but the same message. Help our men in Afghanistan.

After I had been to the supermarket I went home again. I couldn't get the poster asking for nurses out of my mind. Maybe I should go there? Maybe I could help them? I might even get to see Troy – if he was still alive – and see that there was nothing to worry about, that he was just fine. I might, right? I am a doctor, so I could work there as a nurse… Well, I'll just have to think about that. It could be the perfect chance to find out about what happened to Troy.

That night in bed I was tossing and turning, I was seriously considering going to Afghanistan as a nurse. It would be dangerous, yes, but I'd rather die than live without Troy. And since he is in Afghanistan I should be there too, I want to be as close to him as possible, I don't want him to be in some faraway country without me. I need him. Early in the morning I made up my mind, I would go there. I need him so I need to be with him, simple as that! I was scared, scared of how this decision would change my life. But, I was also happy; the hope of finding Troy had grown, happy because I would be closer to him. Yes, my decision was final, I would take care of it this afternoon, call the number that was on the posters I saw and tell them I would go there to help 'our men'.

A few days later I was on my way to the airport, silently saying goodbye to my hometown, ready for a new chapter in my life. I saw cars and houses pass by me. I always thought that I would live in this city for the rest of my life, that I'd grow old here, but I was leaving now. I thought I would be sad, actually I now I would have been sad if the city would have been the way it had been a few years ago. But when the city was bombed, the city that I loved was gone and did not really mind that I was leaving. I was glad to be away from here, to leave this all behind me, I wasn't happy here anyways.

When I arrived at the airport I stepped out and got my bag. Looking around I saw all hurrying people. Some were running, others looking around, trying to find their way. I was trying to find the group of people I would be going with, since there were 4 other nurses going to Afghanistan. They had told me to meet them at the meeting point. After a few minutes of looking around me and walking through the entrance hall I saw a sign saying 'meeting point' so I guess that is where I need to be. Indeed, I saw the four other girls standing there already. All five of us are new, and no one has been there before, so I guess we are all a little bit nervous. We were nervous about what would happen to us, where we would go to, how we would have to live there. I know I am a doctor, and that it is my job to help wounded and ill people, but I really hate to see people with really bad injuries. I love to help them, but, even though I have seen a lot of bad injuries I still got a little scared when I saw lots of blood and huge wounds. Well, maybe scared was not the right word. Sometimes I was just shocked by the kinds of injuries people can have. And I think that this will happen a lot more often in a situation of war. But being a doctor gave me such a good feeling, every time a patient of mine healed I felt like I had conquered the world. It felt so good to be able to do something for people.

I was sitting in my cell. I had been in here for about five or six months. I couldn't really remember how long it had been exactly, it felt like ages. All this time I had been forced to stay in this dirty cell. The walls were grey and the floor was dirty. Every day was exactly the same as the day before. The guards would wake me up early in the morning; give me some bread and water, and leave me alone for the rest for the day. I would listen to the water that was slowly dripping from the ceiling; drip, drop, drip, drop. It was the only thing that could be heard in this damned cell. It was almost as if they were tears dropping down. Drip, drop, drip, drop, drip, drop. I believe they are tears, slowly dropping down from somebody's face; somebody who can not stop crying. Funny, how sometimes people feel like they can not hold back the tears while I can not cry anymore. My tears dried up a long time ago, I cried all of them. I believe you need some happiness to be able to cry about the sad things in live. When I was captured my happiness was taken away, because I knew that at some time Gabriella would move on, she'd think that I am dead and find herself a new life. Gabriella was my happiness, when she isn't with me, when I am not able to have contact with her, my happiness is gone.

I remembered the day I was captured so well. We were driving around in one of the cars, just making sure that everything was ok and to make sure that there weren't any problems or fights. It all seemed to be going alright, until suddenly people appeared all around us and started firing on us. I don't recall ever being as nervous as I was then. One by one I saw my fellow soldiers fall down, blood dripping from the places where they were shot. I decided that fighting back wasn't any use and I surrendered. Of course I wanted to fight and protect myself, and maybe it was weak of me to just surrender, but I could not fight them off. They were with so many people, all shooting on us. Two others also surrendered, the rest couldn't, they were dead. They captured us and threw us in the back of their truck, which they used to drive us somewhere. God only knows where we are. When we arrived at our destination they separated me and the other two soldiers and I have not seen them since then. I don't even know why they took us; we don't have any secret information, they don't ask money for us, they never questioned me, nothing… I really have no clue why they want us to stay here, and yet, here I am sitting in my cell listening to the drops of water falling down, wondering about how Gabriella was doing.

I always thought that prisoners like me, prisoners of war, would be visited by members of the ICRC. I thought they would come and look if we were treated right. I guess I was wrong all along. I'm pretty sure that the way they have been treating us isn't allowed according to the Geneva conventions, but no one came here to check it, so I guess we will never know. Now I think of it, they probably don't even know where we are. Hell, I don't even know where I am, how are they supposed to know?

I started to feel more and more miserable. I had nothing left to live for. I'd rather die than spent the rest of my life in this cell; this cell that for me consisted of bad memories and drops of water. If only I knew how Gabriella was doing and that she was safe, that would have made my life a lot better. Unfortunately I was thousands of miles away from her, unable to see or contact her in any way.

Please review, i'd like to know what you think of it:)