Brave New World
To the people of the free world,
You have seen the atrocities inflicted by the Tempest Dynasty across Eurasia. From the Pacific to Atlantic, countless millions have suffered under the iron grip of the DYN!
Have YOU thought what would happen if they invaded YOUR country?
Do YOU realize that the safety and security of humanity resides in YOUR hands? That to achieve victory against the forces of Domovoy Molchalin, your sons and daughters must sign up NOW?
Do you realize that after the war, your husband and wife, your son and daughter, will ask what YOU did in this time of crisis? Will YOU be able to look them in the eye as YOU answer?
Don't wait, sign up now! Join the Global Defence Force today! There should be a recruiting station in your area.
(GDF recruitment poster, first printed 1994.)
February 1st, 1997
Dear Dad,
I finally got your pictures from Iceland. It looks beautiful, nothing like home. Is it true that it wasn't hit by the nukes in World War III? At school, we're studying history, and we've just started learning the basics of the Cuban Missile Disaster. I must say, it's weird that you're in Iceland (I thought you were going to Europe?), but this way, you're closer to Nova Scotia. Maybe the war will end tomorrow, and you'll be back home the day after that?
Thought you should know that Paul and John Coyne signed up today. Work on the farm is hard - the Tempest gets everywhere, sucks up all the moisture from the soil, and that's after it bursts through the ground in the first place. Aunt Sandy says that it's not just them, that country towns all over the country are dying. She says that the war with the Tempest Dynasty is a waste of time, and that Tempest itself is the real threat. Mum got angry with her over the phone, and said a lot of naughty words that she made me promise not to write here.
Time's up. I need to start my homework. I'd call, but mum says we'd have to wait hours to get through to you. Please write back.
Lots of love,
Nikki.
February 17th, 1997
Dear Dad,
I'm still waiting to hear back from you. There's lots of stuff on the news about what's happening in Europe and Asia ("Eurasia," as Miss Vangent calls it). She said that one should never start a land war in Asia, that Napoleon did it, that Hitler did it, and now, Domovoy Molchalin has done it. I told her that surely that it was good, that it surely meant that the Tempest Dynasty would lose, but she took away five house points and told me to stop saying stupid things.
(She might have had a relative who died in the Third World War. If so…yikes.)
Aunt Sandy is coming to live with us next week. I really don't get mum, she really doesn't like her sister, but she spent last weekend tidying up the house and making Sandy's bedroom, and told me that I needed to pick my dolls up. Apparently, Sandy's landlord has raised the rent - there's so many people fleeing to the cities across Canada's provinces, there just isn't enough room, and the lack of space allows the "blood-sucking capitalist leeches" to "profit off human misery." I asked mum what a capitalist was, but she told me that I was only twelve, and I wasn't to repeat what she'd just said over dinner (it'll be our secret, okay?).
I know that I shouldn't complain. Mum says we're eating better than you, but every dinner is just soup and bread, with a side of mushroom if we're lucky. Mum says that we have to make do because of the rationing, and everywhere I look in Halifax, there's posters about saving food, cutting down on luxuries, supporting our boys and war bonds (something about investment? Really don't get it). Even the CBC is getting in on the act. Mum says it's because they're afraid to be called unpatriotic. When I asked mum, she said to be patriotic is to love one's country. I don't get how you love a country (I mean, you love me and mum, right?), but mum didn't explain.
Come to think of it, mum doesn't explain much about anything these days. She misses you, but she refuses to discuss what you're doing, or the war, or, well, anything. When pressed, she told me that the war between the GDF and Tempest Dynasty is like the first two world wars all over again. I asked her if it was also like the third. She didn't say much after that. I asked her if we were in a fourth world war, and what a fifth would be like, but she told me to be quiet before she went back to complaining about Sandy.
I can't wait to be grownup. That way, I could talk back. I could even fight a war with you.
Well, anyway, write back soon.
Lots of love,
Nikki.
March 11th, 1997
Dear Dad,
I was so glad to get your letter. Thanks! It's great to know that you're still well, and that the Tempest Dynasty has been driven out of Iceland. We saw plenty of footage on the news, it looked so cool, seeing the tanks and the planes and the guns and the soldiers. I cheered when I saw a Tempest tank get blown up. Mum told me that I shouldn't be happy, and Sandy said that Tempest, not the Dynasty, was the real issue, and then they started yelling at each other, and I excused myself.
(Still eating soup by the way. Least it's not gruel. Apparently Oliver Twist is on our reading list next year at school.)
Confession time – when I "excused myself," I went into Halifax. Mum doesn't want me walking out late at night, but I roamed the streets anyway. There's lots of police - military police. They've got black uniforms and big guns, and while I know they're the good guys, they make me uneasy. They're making sure any Tempest spies in our midst are rooted out, and while I know I'm not a Tempest spy (unless they're doing mind control!), what if they mistake me for one?
One of my teachers, Mister Chan, was locked up last week, even though he was born and raised in Canada. I can't believe he's a spy, but I can't believe that the GDF would make a mistake. They're here to protect us. The Tempest Dynasty want to rule the planet. They're the enemies of the free world.
Anyway, write again soon.
Lots of love,
Nikki.
March 30th, 1997
Wow! So you finally landed in Europe.
We're so proud of you. Mum and Sandy read the newspapers every day, and the CBC has now started its own twenty-four hour broadcast program. GDF soldiers are brought on to inform us how great the war is going. We hear that you killed over 8000 Tempest soldiers in France alone. Sounds awesome. I wish I could fight there with you. I talked to a recruiter yesterday, and he said boys and girls as young as fifteen were passing themselves off as eighteen. I tried to sign up, but he joked to come back in ten years' time, and then maybe he could look the other way.
Ten years? Really? I'm twelve, and the war could be over by then! I'd be so ashamed if I didn't get to fight. I mean, this isn't like World War III, the Dynasty are evil, and we've gotta kill them before they kill us.
But enough about me. It was nice to get your letters It's nice that you're so worried about Mister Chan, but we really can't afford to doubt the GDF. That's what the people on CBC keep saying. We even had a soldier come round at school and told us that we have to do our part. "If you hear something, say something," he said. "If you see something, say something." One of the kids asked about tasting something, and while the recruiter didn't seem to mind, he got detention.
When I told mum and Sandy about the visit, they started yelling, first at me, then at each other. I think mum misses you, but sometimes, it seems more than that. At least the girls and I get along - we've started an after-school club where we spend our time making bandages to send to our dads. It's hard work, and we're exhausted by the end of it, and I still need to do my homework, but we know it's worth it. Well, most of us. Fern's dad is apparently a conscientious objector. Got arrested to it. We tried explaining to Fern that everyone has to do their part, that she can still make a difference for the war effort, but she wouldn't listen.
We've decided not to talk to Fern anymore. If she won't do her part like you are, then she's a good for nothing traitor. I saw some kids at school picking on her in the playground, and while I had the urge to step in, I managed to find the courage to stand aside. If Fern wants to be a white feathered peacenik, she has to learn to deal with the consequences.
Anyway, make sure to kill some Tempest thugs for me.
Lots of love,
Nikki.
P.S.: Sandy's come down with a cough. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, but mum isn't so sure.
May 17th, 1997
Hey Dad.
Mum insisted I write to you again, after that phone call we had back in April. Y'know, where the conversation turned to Mister Chan and Fern. I…look, mum says I have to say I'm sorry, but she doesn't see these letters. I love you, but sometimes, it feels like we're on different planets. I mean, you're fighting in Europe right now (I know you can't say where), and you should hate the Tempest Dynasty more than anyone else. Yes, security's tight here, but if we don't root out Tempest sympathizers wherever we find them, they could win.
I mean, the school gets it. The boys have started their own cadet corps. If you're fourteen, you get to start marching. If you're sixteen, there's ways for the GDF to pull you out early and make you a soldier. Come rain or shine, they march, they sing the national anthem, they hoist the flag of Canada as well as the GDF – the red and white of the maple leaf next to the iron eagle. History classes have taken a more modern twist, and we've learnt how the GDF was founded in 1988 from the remnants of the Union of Allied Nations. They collapsed under their own infighting, but the GDF will ensure that won't happen again. Oh sure, we're still a sovereign country, but it's good to have the GDF watching over us. Make sure we don't do anything silly.
Really, it makes me wish I could join them. That way, I could fight alongside you, and we could kill Dynasty scum together. I tried the recruitment sergeant again, but he told me to bugger off. Said, "Plenty of people are dying young, missy, I don't need you on my list." I called him something and sauntered off. I'm sure you'd be proud...or at least, I would have been if you didn't go all so weird.
Not much else to say. Sandy's still coughing. Mum wants to take her to a doctor, but most of the doctors have joined the GDF (or been conscripted), and the ones that remain have long waiting lists. It's getting worse, and whatever bug is going around, it's affecting a lot of people. Some kind of summer flu?
Anyway, take care of yourself.
Nikki.
May 21st, 1997
Short letter, but Sandy's now bedridden, and mum has to work. I've been pulled out of school to look after her. I mean, unless school teaches us how to fight, there's not much worth learning there either.
There's more MPs in the town now - looking for deserters. Much as I wish you were home, dad, I 'm glad you're not a coward like them.
May 23rd, 1997
Mum and I had a fight yesterday. I told her that I wanted to leave school and join the war effort. She made it clear in no uncertain terms that wasn't happening. She shouted, I shouted, then Sandy started coughing, and then she started coughing up blood.
I wasn't afraid. I've watched the news, there's lots of blood there. Mum told me to call an ambulance, and we took her to the hospital. We had to wait a long time because so many doctors have joined the war effort, and medical supplies are being rationed.
I tried some knitting. All the other girls are doing it. I imagine you'll need some socks with all the marching you're doing.
May 24th, 1998
Oh dad, Sandy has Tempest poisoning!
The doctors say that they can't doing anything. The Tempest has entered her bloodstream, and it's impossible to remove. They compared it to lead poisoning or cancer, only there's no treatment.
Mum cried a lot. Please don't tell anyone this dad, but I didn't. I know I should, I wish I could, but I just can't. I didn't know Sandy that well, and she and mum were fighting so often, I never really got to know her. Even then, when mum was crying, they started arguing again, with Sandy telling her that the Tempest was the true enemy, and mum telling her to save her strength, and then Sandy started yelling, and mum started yelling, then the machine made a beeping noise, and we were ushered out of the room then.
The doctors say they're going to try and make Sandy comfortable, but it's unlikely she'll make it to the end of the month. I overheard some of them saying that a lot of people are coming in with signs of Tempest poisoning. That there's something called an epidemic going on. I haven't heard about an epidemic before, but it sounds bad, and they say that the GDF is so focused on fighting the Tempest Dynasty, no-one's paying attention.
I'll try to keep you posted.
Lots of love,
Nikki.
May 29th, 1997
We were forced to stay home today. Tempest particles are blowing all over Ontario and Quebec, and that includes the eastern provinces. The people on the news said that Tempest grows faster in warmer climes and temperatures. A little bit of Tempest dust (or spores, they didn't seem to know which was which) won't do too much harm, but inhale too much, too fast, you're like Aunt Sandy. I joked to mum that it wasn't so bad, that this way I've got a three day weekend, but she told me to shut up before she started crying again.
I wish you were here, dad. Mum looks so pale. We've tried calling the hospital to find out how Sandy is doing (we haven't seen her in two days), but the lines are clogged up. Mum's calling every hour, always giving her name and phone number but it won't help.
It's boring, dad. Shelly and her family have got a computer with Internet, can you believe it? I wish I had the Internet. That way I could send you an email, since I know I can't send you a fax in Europe. Sometimes I write these letters by hand, sometimes I use the computer and print them off, but they must take forever to get to you. And when we get letters from you in turn, so much of it is blacked out.
Win this war for us dad. I want you home again.
Love,
Nikki
May 30th, 1997
Aunt Sandy died last night.
June 5th, 1997
We had the funeral yesterday. Not many people attended. The authorities wanted it kept indoors. Sandy's body was cremated due to the Tempest poisoning. There's rumours that GDF scientists are taking bodies. Some of the kids say it's to make zombie super soldiers, but Miss Vangent says it's to find better ways to treat Tempest poisoning. They say things will get better in autumn, but what about the year after that? And the year after that? What about countries closer to the equator?
I watched the news last night after the funeral. They're not talking about the war as much now. It's like it's become this background thing in our lives. Some days I go to school, some days I don't. There's rumour that some of the teachers are coming down with "Temp," as they call it, which means substitute teachers are coming in, if we can find them at all.
Temps causing temps to do some temping…heh…
I write so I don't think about Sandy. So I don't think about the tears in my mother's eyes. I write, so that these letters may reach you.
I miss you daddy.
June 18th, 1997
Still waiting to hear from you dad. The news says that the fighting in Europe is at a stalemate. Miss Vangent says it's like World War I, where the two sides were bogged down in trenches for years. We asked her about the Third World War, why we don't just nuke the Tempest Dynasty, but she told us to stop asking stupid questions, before explaining that after the Cuban Missile Disaster devastated the world, everyone more or less agreed to never use nukes again. Of course, I thought people back then would know not to use nukes back then either, but then she told us we were getting off-topic, and returned to teaching us John Macdonald. BORING.
Mum's doing better. She's writing to you as well, though I think it's for her sake as much as yours. She's crying less now, and we even saw a movie last week called Duke Nukem. Mum walked out halfway through, but while the women seemed to be nothing but props, I liked the gunfights. But more importantly, we went down to the harbour to greet returning soldiers unloaded from a hospital ship. I understand most GDF soldiers in Europe are unloaded in the UK or Ireland, but that they can't take them all, and some, usually of Canadian citizenship, are sent here. Some to the US of course, but as so many of its cities are still in ruins, it doesn't have the capacity for them, even if it provides most of the GDF's soldiers.
(Weird country, south of the border.)
The soldiers waved, the people cheered. I can't deny I wish you were among them. The men on crutches came first, then the men on wheelchairs, then on stretchers, then finally, the men who could walk. Apparently, they'll stay in X for many months. Some of them may never return to the front. There's a time when I might have called them cowards, but looking at them now? I don't think so.
I don't think you need to kill to be brave. I think surviving is the real battle.
Am I right, daddy?
June 23rd, 1997
Finally got your letters. I've read them over and over, as Halifax's power grid was knocked out.
We think it was Dynasty agents who did it. We had to empty the freezer and use an ice box. It's summer though, and the food isn't lasting long. We can't use the fan, and we're both sweating like pigs.
I've seen reports of refugees from the south trying to cross the border. I've been told that Tempest thrives in hot conditions, and summer, it seems, is Tempest season. Everyone's trying to do what they can, but the GDF is still focused on destroying the Tempest Dynasty. I guess that makes sense, but there's so much strife closer to home, that I'm wondering if they're pointing their guns in the wrong direction.
Please win the war soon dad. I miss you.
Love,
Nikki
June 25th, 1997
Writing from an old fallout shelter. Tempest dust is blowing all over Halifax. I've seen pictures of dust storms before, in places like Australia, but nothing like this. It's like the sky itself is bleeding.
There's about sixty families in the shelter. Mostly women and children. It's a relic from World War II if you can believe it, later retrofitted for a potential nuclear conflict (a conflict that became very real in October, 1962). We've been assured that the same measures used to keep the radiation at bay will stop Tempest particles from getting in.
Mum's coughing a lot, and she's not the only one. It can't be Tempest, can it?
June 26th, 1997
They still won't let us out. The wind's still blowing. Children are still crying, people are still coughing. There's a chapel where people are praying.
I don't know what we can do, dad. I'm writing these letters, but I've no means of sending them. Even if we defeat the Tempest Dynasty, what do we do about Tempest? There's people here that survived the Cuban Missile Disaster, and they've told me of the sky becoming aflame, as entire cities in the United States were reduced to rubble. Canada was mostly safe then, unlike Eurasia, but now, the Tempest is spreading everywhere. What's the point of fighting the Tempest Dynasty if we're all going to be poisoned in the end?
I don't know when you'll get these letters, but please, PLEASE write back as soon as you can. Mum told me to send you her love, but she's coughing oh so hard, and-
Blood.
She's coughing up blood.
Please, come back...
June 27th, 1997
Mum's been taken to quarantine.
There's a teacher here, Mister Harrison. He's missing an arm, a veteran, but he's nice, and he's giving me and the other children lessons.
There's others like him - veterans who are back from the war. Peter Sykes just sits in the corner, staring at the wall. Joe Smith lost his leg, and at night, I wake up, listening to him screaming. There's medical staff in the shelter, but they don't have enough supplies to keep him sedated.
People are whispering that it's all for nothing. The CBC is telling us to remain calm, that the war is going well, that the GDF is taking ground, but no-one really cares anymore. We don't care what's happening on the other side of the world, we care about what's happening here.
Please. Please come home soon. Mum is...I think she's going to...
June 28th, 1997
Mum's still in quarantine. They still won't let me see her.
Troopers entered the fallout shelter today, only to give supplies. Questions like when we can get out, how bad things are on the surface, what the government is doing, does the government even exist under the GDF, were ignored. Someone, I don't know who, threw a can of tuna at one of the troopers, and a fight broke out.
The troopers started fighting back. One of them started shooting. Someone, a woman whose name I never learnt, ended up on the floor, bleeding.
She didn't scream. Her son did.
I'm in my room, and I can't get his screams out of my head. "Mummy, mummy!" he cried.
I'm crying now.
I miss my mummy.
I miss my daddy.
I want to go home.
June 29th, 1997
Mr. Harrison taught me how to play chess today.
He's going easy on me, but he still always wins. He tried to explain that war is like chess - a game of strategy where the superior mind comes out on top. Maybe he's right, but it seems like in this war, the entire board is being destroyed. There's tales across Eurasia of refugee columns miles long, driven either to flee by the war, the spread of Tempest, or both.
I saw my mum today. She's not good. She's red in the face, and some kind of red 'growth' is spreading down her limbs. Like she's becoming a plant person. I heard the doctors say something about amputation. I wanted to hug her, but they wouldn't let me.
They let me cry though.
July 1st, 1997
We finally exited the fallout shelter and we're home. Mum is better, but she's lost her right leg and left arm, and there's no guarantee that the Tempest won't take the rest of her.
The skies are clear now, if not my eyes. I went to the post office today, and it was like something out of a movie - people are wearing gas masks. There's troopers on every corner wearing NBC suits. I don't know if they're meant to protect us from the Tempest Dynasty, the Tempest itself, or if they're here because the GDF fears its own people.
I posted the letters, and told the clerk that I was twelve, before correcting myself - I'm thirteen now. I had my birthday in the fallout shelter. I didn't even remember it.
Doing the shopping for mum now. School's not open yet, I don't know if it ever will be. But at least I got those letters off.
Can't wait to hear from you.
Lots of love,
Nikki.
July 2nd, 1997
Dear Mrs. Mackenzie,
We regret to inform you that your husband, Sergeant Robert Mackenzie, was killed in action on June 30th, in an operation against the Tempest Dynasty.
We cannot divulge the nature of this operation, but can assure you that Sergeant Mackenzie's death was quick and painless, and in the highest traditions of the Global Defence Force.
The GDF Department of Veteran Affairs will be in contact with you on the subject of benefits.
Warm regards,
Colonel Arthur Laurent
Global Defence Force
August 1st, 1997
Dear Diary,
Factory work is killing me, but it's also keeping me alive. 9 to 5, make shells. Come home. Make dinner. Try to talk to mum. Write in diary.
Dad's gone, so don't have anyone to send letters to anymore.
We hear about the war. Some say the GDF is winning, some say the Tempest Dynasty is. Tempest is still spreading all over the world. There's rumours of some kind of non-aligned force working around it. Images that people say are doctored of some kind of underground civilization. It seems like something from the Super Six, when they discovered the Kingdom of the Mole People, but I dunno. But with the war bogged down in eastern Europe, with both sides desperate for any advance they can get, no-one can spare time to investigate.
The CBC has shown images of giant Tempest fields covering entire swathes of Canada – Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba…further south you get, the worse things get, but it's everywhere. Great fields of red vines, choking everything. Fire, flood, explosives…we can slow it, we can't stop it. I've started reading a book called War of the Worlds, where the Martians brought a red plant to Earth in their bid to terraform (Marsform?) it. In the book, the Martians lost because of disease, and their red plants withered. This time, there are no Martians, but a red plant is consuming everything.
No-one talks about it. We're too exhausted to. I remember once, when this war seemed glorious. Just. Necessary. Maybe it still is. But now, six days a week, day by day. Making shells.
Thank you for listening, diary.
August 17th, 1997
Dear Diary,
Had Sunday off, so volunteered at the Red Cross station. More casualties are being shipped here from Europe. Some of them wounded by the guns of the Tempest, some poisoned by the plant from which Molchalin conglomeration takes its namesake. The former, we can help with. The latter is beyond my reach.
425.
I rolled 425 bandages. I counted.
As the war drags on, maybe I can break that record.
August 25th, 1997
Dear Diary,
There's been a drop in recruitment. People read the papers, watch the news, they know what the war is costing us. People say that the GDF wants to introduce conscription. That it would if it didn't mean riots in the streets. I don't know what recruitment system the Tempest Dynasty uses - maybe its forces are volunteers. Maybe Molachalin is just that charismatic. The GDF Council grew out of the Allied Nations (which in turn grew out of the United Nations before New York and so many other cities were destroyed in WWIII), but we don't have a single leader. No single figure to rally behind, or hate. Is that a strength, or a weakness?
I've started looking back at my old diary entries. So eager, so full of life, so eager to kill. Now…all that's left is the present. Day by day, as death surrounds everything. More efficient than any bullet from any rifle.
I'd ask mum about the leadership thing, but she doesn't say much, and wouldn't answer a question like that.
Also, 437.
That's my new record.
September 1st, 1997
Dear Diary,
Autumn's come, and with it, a recruitment blitz from the GDF. All of Halifax is pasted with recruiting posters. Having worked in factories and hospitals, my only desire is to see this war end, but it's surprising how many people have supported the pro-conscription side of things. CBC reported on brawls in the streets. A teacher was fired from a university for "indoctrinating" students, while in another university, students rioted against GDF troopers.
Some say we cannot abandon the brave soldiers overseas, fighting in Europe (and the Middle East - both sides want its oil). Posters ask why you'd see a movie or have a swim when your time could be better spent on the front. Others say that Canada has done its bit, that the GDF has no mandate over the country (or any country, really), and that if you support conscription, you're supporting the murder of our sons and daughters.
So far, the GDF's charter forbids them from introducing conscription, but they've done a war census of all GDF territories - all men of fighting age are in a database. I suppose I should be grateful that my plumbing is different and that I can't be drafted. Yet.
I want this war to end. But with my father dead, that wish is less dear to me than it once was.
I'm reading the newspapers these days. They say mothers should not weep for their lost sons. They say nothing of children not weeping for their lost fathers.
Which I do, on many a night.
But you already knew that, my dear diary.
P.S. 441.
September 7th, 1997
Dear Diary,
The recruitment/conscription debate continues. I've noticed city folk tend to be more on the "pro" side than country folk. Could be a farm thing. With millions of hectares lost to Tempest already, feeding Canada (heck, the world) is becoming a war in of itself. There was a teacher at school, I forget who, who said that in war, it's the starving that kills more people than the fighting. I don't know if that's true, but if so…
Well, I've got my soup and bread, eh?
I've had to stop work at the hospital, and I'm back to making shells. The vet benefits aren't enough to cover me and mum - at least if I don't want to skimp on painkillers.
September 8th, 1997
Dear Diary,
Mum's in terrible pain. She's rolling back and forth, moaning. I've tried calling the hospital, but as I cannot confirm that it's an "emergency situation" or that the patient is of "the utmost need," they don't have the capacity to help her. So many troopers are coming back here, plus the issue of Tempest poisoning has never really gone away. I tried to get her to drink some tea, but she coughed it up. She looked at me and started calling me "Sandy." When I said I was "Nikki," she said "oh Nikki, six years old and with her dolls, she'll be old before I know it." I tried to convince her of the nature of things, but when she started calling for dad...
I couldn't. I wouldn't. And then the agony began again.
Hers. And mine.
September 14th, 1997
Dear Diary,
Mum's funeral was beautiful. Or at least as beautiful as a mother's passing can be.
I talked to Reverend Simpson. He's a nice man, but he complained that the church donations on Sundays were drying up. People have little to give, and what little they have goes to the war. He, however, still has to write letters of condolence for the bereaved.
Before month's end, I'll find out if I'm in a state orphanage, or if a family will take me in. So many children have lost families, whether it to be the war or Tempest poisoning. At thirteen, I know I won't be top pick. The state will take me in, and in whatever capacity, I'll be expected to support this war to the end.
It's so strange how little I feel about mum's death. Dad, mum, Sandy...death has taken the world, and we're all living in it. The war has ground to stalemate, good men are dying (I suppose bad men are dying as well, but good and man don't mean as much as they once did), and back home, we wait for everything to end.
So may we sing "God Save the King," for despite what the reverend said, I doubt God will be saving any of us.
September 22nd, 1997
Dear Diary,
I fear this will be my last entry. The war is not over, and may not be for a long time. I have learnt I have been assigned to Orphanage Facility 48, where I will be expected to make shells from 9-5, six days a week. The state does not have the resources to support an education in addition to clothing and feeding me.
I've met some of the other kids. Most of them come from the countryside. The lucky ones who escaped the spread of Tempest – escaped a war so few of us actually noticed. War orphans like me…we're the minority. They don't talk about it much, and when they do, they speak about it consuming everything. Every day, a doctor comes through the orphanage and checks for Tempest poisoning. Most pass the tests. Those who don't are taken away.
I've yet to see any of them return.
Perhaps one day, this war will be over. Perhaps the dead will know rest, and we will debate how to honour them. Perhaps then, we will turn our attention to the Tempest, which even now, continues to spread, and takes the lives of young and old alike. More lives than the war itself, according to rumour, though that is a theory I have learnt not to voice in the company I find myself in.
To the war being over.
Sincerely,
Nikki McKenzie