I tried to open my eyes, but they only strained. I tried again. My eyelids separated little by little over the next few seconds until I could finally see. My vision was blurry. I was staring up at the sky, but it was a sky I did not recognize. It was gray and dreary and filled with smoke that felt like wildfire blazing in my lungs with every breath. I sat up slowly and gazed at the world around me, though it didn’t seem like much of a world anymore. It felt more like a hell. Fires burned all around. The houses had turned to rubble and people--more dead than alive--were everywhere. There seemed to be no more green left in the land of Ostlea. All the grass and trees and flowers were now dead and brown. There was only dust where there used to be driveways and ash where homes used to stand.

As I continued to take in the scene in front of me, I noticed several men, soldiers, dressed in their traditional khaki colored uniforms. They seemed to be driving tall steel poles into the ground. I stood slowly, my legs trembling beneath me. I walked towards the soldiers but as I approached I realized I didn’t know what to say. Instead of speaking, the soldier simply unzipped his pack and silently offered me a large cloth and some gauze. It was only then that I realized my left leg was covered in dried blood. I sat down and dressed my wound. It was painful to the touch and most certainly needed stitches, but I knew those wouldn’t be coming any time soon.

“What happened,” I finally muttered, not knowing if I really wanted to hear the answer. The tall man looked down as he said, “I can’t give many details; I shouldn’t even tell you this. Emperor Prentiss set off a series of explosions throughout the nation. He is taking over. He will be communicating to the few survivors through these intercoms.” The man pointed towards the pole he was installing. “I’m sorry,” he said and then turned away from me and continued in his efforts. I cupped my face in my hands. This couldn’t be happening. For the last five years, Emperor Nelson Prentiss had ruled Ostlea with such dignity and grace. How could he turn on a nation that he seemed to love?

I’m not sure how long I sat there with the words of the soldier echoing in my mind, but when I finally looked up, the men were gone. I rose to my feet and began to walk. I wanted to find other survivors. I needed someone to hold me and tell me everything would be alright. I knew my parents were gone; I knew that from the second I opened my eyes. Teenagers and their parents weren’t supposed to get along, but me and mine did. We were incredibly close. They always knew when something was wrong with me, and now, I knew the same about them.

With everything turned to dust, I didn’t know which direction I was going, I was just walking. Everyone around me was dead. I tried not to look directly at anyone, only out of my peripheral did I watch for signs of movement. It had been well over an hour before I found him. A man who appeared to be in his late 30’s was laying on the ground with his head propped on a broken mailbox, moaning in pain. The right side of his face was melted and his right arm was gone, but he was alive. I kneeled next to him and cried as I asked him what I should do. He did not speak. Only his left eye moved in my direction and when it caught mine, I saw the answer written all over him. I laid next to him and held his hand until he died. His hand went limp and I knew. I gently closed his remaining eye and knelt over him as I prayed for a peaceful retreat into Heaven. Then I continued walking.