We work by day and hide by night. The bullets have to be made. We need them for our men. Whoever decided to have this bloody war, was insane!
I swipe a bead of sweet from my forehead, and place some small handheld bombs into the cardboard box. I hate this job so much, but it must be done. At any moment, with just the slightest pressure, one bomb could explode, causing a chain reaction, and ultimately blowing this bunker sky high.
"Alright girls it's 9 o'clock. Good work! Go home, get some rest, and we'll see you tomorrow at 5 am." Cheyenne's usually cheery voice echoes around the room, the echoes sounding more like a song than she originally did.
In order to support the war, boys and girls work in the bunkers from age 16 until they are 18 years old. Then the boys go off to a two month training program, and are then shipped to Iraq. The girls have a choice, they can continue working in the bunkers, or other field for the war effort, or head off to war with the men. There is no other option.
It really is sad, we are losing a whole generation of boys to this war. I wish this war would end already! But if it does, where will we be? Will ISIS be stopped, or will the war just be over? If we do will our men who have died, including my father, die in vain? That will never do.
At Cheyenne's voice, I finish filling my box, grab my lunch bag, and make the long journey home.
As soon as I open the door, Sara rushes up to me, Carl in her arms.
"Hey guys!" I smile at my mishmash of a family. We may not be blood related, but we're all we got now.
This war has claimed many kids' parents. My dad died at the beginning of the war, sixteen years ago, a month before I was born. My mom died last year in a bunker accident. That same accident stole Sara's mother. They were both far away from the explosion working with the clothing, but the ceiling collapsed on them. When they were found, they were holding hands, encouraging each other to the end. That is what motivated me to take in Sara.
Carl, who is just three months old, lost his mother at birth. With all the nurses and doctors on the front lines, we have the women of this community to help us; but there was complication during labor, and Carl barely made it out alive. With all the other women not having enough money to feed their own families, I took up the responsibility of raising him.
"How was school, honey?" I ask taking Carl into my arms.
"Good!" She exclaims, hugging my legs.
With all this war going on around us, I am thankful that it has not marred Sara's cheerfulness. I am also thankful that Mrs. Clara, Sara's teacher, has taken it upon herself to babysit Carl while Sara is at school. Everyone in our small community has really pulled together to help me raise these incredible kids. They send meals over, and offer to watch the kids. They really are helpful.
I look down into Carl's baby face. I love these kids so dearly.
"Alright Sara, it's time for bed."
"Ok." She yawns, and races up the stairs to change into her pajamas. This girl is a fighter. She is a mother to Carl when I'm not here. She has taken up feeding and changing him. She plays with him, and all through this, she cooks and cleans and gets her school work done.
"I love you. So much." I tell Carl, as I kiss his forehead. Then I place him into his crib. "Goodnight buddy."
"Goodnight!" Sara exclaims and she hugs my legs again.
"Goodnight, honey!" I take Sara's hand and we walk up the stairs to her bedroom. I tuck her in, kiss her goodnight, and turn out the light.
Then I walk down the stairs to my bedroom. Before I turn off the light I say a quick prayer. "Dear God, please protect Sara and Carl during the day. Help them to have a good nights' rest, and keep them innocent. Amen." I pray the same prayer every night, too exhausted to think of anything else to say. I switch off the light, crawl into bed, and fall asleep immediately.
