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Writing: The Second Wind.

Posted by Stopsignal - April 27th, 2014

Other tale. This time, the human's view.

Second Wind


Lots of dark figures were standing out of the Second Wind building. With their arms on the air, they were yelling at the windows. Guards could merely stop them: they were hundreds. Some were obviously angered: their faces were red and their voices were loud. Others, were sad: crying people, men, women and kids, with shadows on their looks. The moon was illuminating their silhouettes while they were trying to enter the building.


The man took the hand of his son, but he could not make him stop looking from the windows. Being at the other side of the problem made anybody feel guilty and useless. He could not stop looking from the windows either, he was really nervous.


The kid looked at him and asked the question.

“Why aren’t mommy and my sister coming with us?”


The tall person tried to hide the truth.

“They will come later, the thing is that mommy has to do some things for work, and your sister will make her company. We will see them later”


He could not avoid to remember the last time he saw her. It was a farewell without any words.


But a loud noise woke him up. He took a gaze through the windows: a person was shooting to the air. Was the shooter really wanting to enter the building in that way? But, who knows, maybe he would have tried the same thing, just to make his family be safe from the war.


The guards quickly incapacitated the shooter, and then one pointed the gun to his head. People were running from the scene, screaming, yelling; and then he realized that his kid was staring at the window. He tried to make him look away, but he was late, the loud revolver sound was faster than his hands covering the kid’s eyes.


The shooter was standing there for a few seconds, and then he fell to the ground. Blood started flowing, and the moonlight reflected on it.


His son could not apart his eyes from it, and slowly started to cry, in silence.

“Why… why that happened? Why did they kill him? said. The father took him from the arm and pulled him away from the big blue window.


“He was going to die anyways...” the tall man said to himself. “The point is that he did not had to see it, we all did not had to see it”. But his son did. And he was not going to forget it.


Would his wife and daughter die in a more peaceful way? Because it was obvious that they were not going to survive the war. Why they had to choose him and not her? Why this had to happen to him? He tried to change his ticket for one for his daughter, but they did not let him.


“She was not chosen. We won’t change your ticket. If you don’t want to go, then stay here.”


His son stopped crying, but he was crying now. He had to cry, he felt like if he really did, but he had to be strong in front of his little son. He continued remembering.


He remembered a time even before, when the letter came through the door. They were waiting for it long ago, and at the same time, they hoped it’d never appear. But it did.


He started to read… It said information about the SW project, about the war and the chances, about the tests they’ve already taken and about the fact that , in a bad situation (like the one the world was), it was the only way to survive. Then, it had a list with the names of the approved people of the house. His name, and his son’s name. No more. His wife was looking at him in the eyes, trying to decipher what he was reading. She realized that they were not lucky. She cried all night, and they were both devastated.


But they did not tell anything to their kids, they should still have hope, and be strong. He said that he would look for a way to change their tickets, so both kids would be saved.


Then, someone took him to reality by yelling: “Hey, approved travellers, to the ship!”


The persons in the main hall of the building stared at the guard, and slowly started to move to the back of the building, where the rocket ship was. The one that would rip them apart from their families and loved ones, from their world and from their dreams.


“Welcome to the Second Wind project.”

I hope you liked it. Remember to comment! Making better writers is soemthing you must! :)