War is a funny thing.
Of course, funny as in strange, peculiar and all shades of wrong and confusing. War is not something you laugh at as you would a joke.
And war is either small-scale or simply huge. You can have a war with a sibling or a friend over a petty misunderstanding, or you can have two or more countries clashing together, causing fear and bloodshed and poverty and death.
War is not a laughing matter.
And for what do we take part in them?
If worldwide peace is something millions strive for, it seems rather funny indeed that we fight one another in order to have it.
Here, we are talking full-blown, country-clashing war. To be precise so you do not misinterpret, we are talking World War Three.
Yes, a third world war. It has lasted a year, once, twice, thrice. Three years. The United States of America against North Korea. England and Germany were to become allies with the U.S.A., with China and Japan allying with Korea.
One, two, three years into WWIII, and it is a game of who falls to their knees first.
... ... ...
JANUARY 4th, 2017, SOUTH FLORIDA
I've heard a lot of people call it immigration, when in actuality it's just a fancy or not-so-fancy cover up for evacuation. Especially now, in the middle of World War Three, it was definitely evacuation.
Daily processes and what-not had become a norm, even though this was my first time doing what I had been assigned to. Being nineteen, I had a certain job.
Americans who weren't going to fight were being ordered around depending on their age. Under-twenties like myself had to be sent out with hundreds of other young adults to the coast where we had to wait for English and German evacuees. It was very specific. We were each put together with an evacuee and we had to explain the basic safety drills and what people did during the day.
Considering this was World War Three, it was all very orderly.
After three years, anniversary being today, the hype had died down and now we were just living extremely rough and hoping every day was not our last.
Each and every day you hear explosions, screams and cries. Nobody ever knows where the next missile will hit or when the next Korean raiders bombard the rural areas. The post-apocalyptic looking remains makes Detroit look like a luxury hotel.
But we were used to it.
I had been made to wait for an Englishman, whose name was Kirkland. I wouldn't know his first name until he stepped off that ship and I went up to him. All you are told is the surname, nationality and gender.
It was about ten in the morning, and the sun was shining blindingly down on the south coast of Florida. The pavement below my feet was scalding, and I had to hop from foot to foot and keep a straight face. Sweat dripped down my face and my glasses kept slipping down my nose. Frustrated, I pushed them up continuously with every passing minute.
The ship was already anchored and people were being called off and sent to various Americans. Guides, you could call us. The kids called them 'war buddies'. I thought that was a nicer term and I often used it myself.
The air was humid and hot and I could practically feel how thick and heavy it was. Not nice.
The sooner this Kirkland guy got off the boat the better.
"Jones?"
I looked up as my surname was called and saw a tall man in uniform waving me over. I hurried on and I was pointed to my 'war buddy'.
"Over there. Make sure he knows what's what and don't anger him. He's got quite the temper. Makin' a fuss a majority of the way."
I smiled and nodded, making my way over to him. At the sound of my footsteps on the cracked wood of the docks, he turned and looked me up and down.
"You Kirkland?" I asked, just to be sure.
"That would be me," he said. "Arthur Kirkland."
"Great, you just follow me then and we'll get you to the campsite."
"You seem awfully cheery, considering we're in the midst of a world war and half the worldwide population is dead." He said in a clipped accent.
I pushed my glasses up my nose again. "Well you get used to it after three years. You don't gotta let every part of the war throw you into mourning, right?"
Arthur raised an unusually thick eyebrow. "Right."
"Right. Well, c'mon Artie, we gotta go if you don't wanna miss lunch at the camp. Hope you're used to walking long distances."
"Arthur."
"Huh?"
"My name is Arthur. Kindly refrain from calling me 'Artie' or any other pet name."
I stared at him for a moment before grinning, nodding and waving him after me. I could hear him grumbling under his breath about 'how damn bossy' I was.
I still smiled.
