It all started with a call. Little did I know that I was going to be in danger, and might not come back alive. 

It’s a picturesque day. I just left my pad, and everything is peaceful, and I’m calm, even though the road I’m driving on is jumbled and packed with cars. Usually, even the best of people get frustrated with NYC traffic; they honk and shout at each other to move, but the serene weather and azure sky has put everyone in a jubilant mood. A few moments later, my phone rings, and I answer.

“Where are you?” my colleague, Lia, barks. 

“I’m on my way to the station,” I answer. 

“Hurry! One of the Twin Towers was just hit!” she shrieks frantically. 

“I’ll be there soon!” I reply anxiously. 

I rush to the station, grab my gear, and jump into a truck. Most of them are already gone, I notice. There must be more damage than I thought. I hustle to the scene, ready with my jacket, gloves, and helmet.

Once I get there, I finally have a chance to see the damage. Smoke rushes out of the gaping hole that the plane left behind, and the sharp smell stings my nose. Fire erupts from the building in different places. Shards of glass and fragments of the once beautiful building are littered along the road. About 10,000 gallons of jet fuel was emptied into the building when the plane crashed; all of that fuel burns in a massive blaze. There is so much smoke pouring out of the heavily ruptured building that it can be seen in satellite pictures. Innocent people are everywhere, some of them running, some injured, some watching, appalled. The horrifying sight scars my vision. 

After a couple minutes, I go and find Lia. 

“What happened?” I ask. 

“The Towers,” she replies, “They’ve been hit. We don’t know why the plane crashed.”

I tell her that I’m going in, and that it was an honor working with her, in case this was goodbye. Trembling with fear, I make my way towards the burning tower, fully geared. This is it, I think to myself. Then I run in and get to work. 

The inside of the tower isn’t any better than the outside. The hot, stuffy air is full of dust and debris, making breathing difficult. Everything is charred inside, and walls have massive holes ripped in them. The huge windows are broken into smithereens. In the middle of all the chaos, people are making their slow descent down the few stairways that are still intact. Although some people are able to get out of the building, patiently and slowly, others, who are very panicked or severely injured, need assistance. Suddenly, a low rumble shakes over the building. What’s going on? I wonder. But then I see it. Another plane flying very low, the same thing people reported when they saw the first one. Before I can do anything or tell anyone, the plane rams through the South Tower.

Now people are really panicking. Several people make their way to me to ask what’s going on.

“What’s happening?”

“Was it another accident?”

“Is it a terrorist attack?”

“What should we do?”

I try to stay calm as they bombard me with questions, but everyone is confused, just as confused as me, and they don’t know what to do. I point them towards the staircases that are most safe in this mess, and they start to make their way down. I continue to do this procedure on every floor of the 110-story building. I attempt to choke back tears when I see fellow workers on the ground, almost camouflaged in the debris, even with their bright coats (or at least, used to be bright). Grime covers their faces and bodies. My heart feels heavy every time I stumble upon my friends and colleagues, and grief fills my body.  Eventually I decide to head back down when I think I got as many people as I can, and when I can’t bear to see more of this catastrophe. Instead, I go to the South Tower, which had collapsed not so long ago. 

Once I get down, I grab a bottle of water, splash some on my face and drink the rest. My choked lungs are relieved as soon as the cool water hits them. While I take a break, I think about what’s happening, how many loved ones people lost, how many people are injured, and most importantly, how many people are staying strong, despite the chaos. Now feeling more motivated, I jump up and get ready to save more people. That’s when I hear a harsh, high pitched sound, and I glance up at the North Tower. Little clouds of dust and smoke shoot out from it. It’s collapsing, I realize. 

“Clear the way!” I holler.

“The tower is falling! Run!” 

A cloud of dust and rubble rumbled its way from the building, engulfing everything in its path monstrously, causing more people to run away in terror. It roughly barreled over buildings and people encompassing the street. 

Amidst the destruction, I feel my walkie talkie buzz in my worn down pocket. 

“The Pentagon was hit too. We’re evacuating the White House, the Capitol, several public places, and landmarks,” says Lia. 

As she continues to fill me in on the details of the flight, I find out that all 64 passengers aboard were killed, and that the Pentagon was hit at 9:37. She also confirms that it was a terrorist attack. A wave of shock courses over me. How can people be so cruel? So many people were harmed. Although many people are suspecting that it was a terrorist attack, I still hope that it isn’t. After a few moments I grab my helmet and get ready to go back into the pandemonium.  

My crew and I continue to rescue people tirelessly. The hours keep rolling by while we work. Eventually, it is 5:05. We finally put out all the fires, though we haven’t finished cleaning all the debris, and there are still people missing; I feel gratified. We have worked restlessly for hours and rescued several people. There’s still some throbbing pain in my heart every time I think of my forgotten homies, but I’m trying to focus on all the joy they brought me while they were alive and well, and how much good they did for all of us.

-Trivika Komatireddy 

The cool wind nipped at Joe’s tattered jeans and seeped into his mind, convincing him that his life was over. The stench of rotten tomatoes loomed in the ashy air from the burned houses in the town. Hatred boiled through his body, encouraging him to fight. He was willing to rip off the Star of David on his arm. He wanted to be someone other than who he was. Then the world went as dark as a black hole.

“Joe, wake up;  you’re late for school,” his mother cried from downstairs. He scratched at his lice infested head aggressively with hatred boiling through him. Groggily, he woke up and rapidly dressed for another day of his miserable life, relying on only the vegetables and fruits grown in their compact lot, the plants growing on top of each other. The steps creaked wincingly while the malnourished child walked down with no electricity in his house.

 All of his friends abandoned him because he was Jewish, listening to the “wise words” of dictator Adolf HItler.  Poor and small, he was picked on by his superiors every day with teachers making no attempt to break up the fight.

The family hunched around the splintered dining table, listening to the radio while chatting. Then everyone in the room hushed into silence. Joe’s father dropped his knife in sheer shock. Tears swelled up into his eyes. 

In Munich, there was a two-day conference discussing the acclamation of the Sudetenland in favor of Germany. France and Britain seceded the Sudetenland to Germany in order to prevent another World War. Devastation tingled through the hearts of Joe’s family once again after Hitler forced all Jews out of his country, and if they stayed they would be persecuted. Joe’s family had to leave right away. The issue was that they had no means of transportation. 

With two days to get all the way to the border, they could take nothing but the bare essentials. The trek was nearly 100 miles over treacherous lands. They set out with nothing but a few berries from their garden. They set out, determined to get to Prague. 

Each step lowered their morale by half.  The hot and humid day layered sweat onto Joe’s face, tearing away at his skin. The jog through the country was a ritardando slowly fading away in enjoyment, with each minute seeming longer than the previous. The turns wound by coiling and uncoiling as the family jogged on. Germans would throw tomatoes at them from their houses, teasing the Jews as they passed by in their rag-tag clothes. Each passing house reminded him of his home, and his legs hit the ground and considered if moving forward was helpful. He wondered if he would be living the same life in Prague.           

The family stopped for a break, and Joe’s father started, “ It’s all right, things will be better in Prague.”

“I don’t want to relive my life there,” confessed Joe sulkingly. 

“It will be fine; there will be more Jews there and there is less German support in the east,” Joe’s father assured.

The barren road split into two sectors; the family was clueless as to which way they should go. The family voted on going to the left. Little did they know that it led into a forest in the South. 

In the path there were multiple paths all branching out in different directions. With only chance to rely on, the family randomly selected path after path, trying to get to Prague. As the sun went down, they headed toward what looked to be an abandoned cottage to seek refuge. 

Joe’s father saw a man that he immediately recognized wandering around the back of the cottage; he cried out, “BOB!”
A man who looked about 35 groggily reared around and yelped out,“Jim, long time no see!”

Joe’s father ran up to the man and hugged him, all while Joe strutted around awkwardly waiting for the love fest to concede. 

Jim timidly replied to his family, “Meet my brother, Bob.”

Joe’s mother slowly walked up, gave a quick handshake and slyly examined the man. It was like a monkey approaching a man, examining the person while staying safe from harm. 

She asked her husband, “why haven’t I heard about Bob?”

Then Bob said, “ That is partially my fault.”

He sighed and narrated, “When I was a child, me and my brother, who is now your husband, lived in poverty surrounded by the misery of the First World War. I was taken hostage by the Germans. The Germans wanted me to tell them about the town, and where the militia and factories were so they could lay siege efficiently. I was promised that I could live if I told them the details about the town. Out of pure fear I quickly agreed to the Germans’ orders. The Germans were clearly satisfied with the advice I had given them. I was let out a couple of miles from the town so I could not tell the town what had happened. I watched helplessly as barrages of artillery were fired onto the militia who were just finishing their training, and onto the factories and even some homes. Fires were ravaging the homes, and cries of the people could be heard from miles away. I knew that there was no home to come back to, so I ran away. I did not want to cause the deaths of so many people, so I fled to the wilderness so I couldn’t be responsible for another's death again.”

The utter silence made Joe feel lifeless. Suddenly both men shed uncontrollable tears flowing down their faces like a wild stream. After a few extensive minutes, they trudged on, this time with a map from Bob and a basket of bread that looked like a million dollars to the famished family. 

The dark canopy blocked out all light, as if god had looked the other way. The chatter of owls, and the rustling of branches made a horror story come to life. The ground was infested with branches that had fallen off of trees. Every family member peered at the sky, trying to make the sun rise. But it never would.

A thumping sound came from their right. Jim held out his knife and staggered toward the sound. The cackle of witches haunted his thoughts. He heard a loud sound and instinctively dove for the ground. He rolled toward the safe haven of the bushes. He looked up and saw the swastika, the symbol of the Nazi Party, and at this moment he knew it was over. 

He woke up in a city, larger than his little town in his old home, the memories of which were too painful to bear. His weary eyes scanned over himself, and he saw a throbbing sea of red on his torso. He saw that only he and Bob were there. 

“Welcome to Prague,” hollered a distant voice.

Bob had decided that this man may be helpful to their cause. He quickly told him their story and said that he was Joe’s father. His mind then started to comprehend what was actually happening. 

The man replied, “we can take revenge on the Nazis, and we can assassinate Hitler and save the world.”

As much as Joe didn’t want to revisit the people who caused his family's trip to the graveyard, Hitler deserved to be put down. The rest of the day went by quickly and uneventfully. Joe thought to himself, couldn’t that have happened the last two days? Joe sought vengeance at god himself and the Nazis for killing his family. 

They boarded the train to go to Munich, Germany, the place where all their troubles had begun. The security was tight, but they made it with their fake identities. The sweat trickled down Joe’s face like a broken sprinkler, sputtering water in batches every now and then. Their train was an hour late for pickup but somehow made up that time in the travel. The streets of Munich had many swastikas hanging from the windows. He saw the accursed face of Hitler several times on their way to the Church. He looked at the poor German children bombarded by the propaganda machine of the Nazis; he even saw another Jewish family being harassed. 

The church loomed over their heads like looking at Mount Everest from the base. The explosives flew through the air, each one traveling in slow motion trying to find Hitler, each one creating a boom that could destroy a house. Then Joe realized what he had done. He had bombed a church.

Joe fell to his knees, shocked at what he had been a part of. The church tore down like a tree had been cut down. A once beautiful church now destroyed. He saw the man rush away. The man named Adolf Hitler. And the bullets that pierced his body didn’t hurt him.

-Aakash Iyer

Chapter 3

Two twenty-five.   The Bell rang,  “Go home!  Go and study my young philosophers!”  our professor exclaimed.  The repetitive ringing was signalling to me and everyone else in Seoul’s Boys’ Honor School that we could finally tread home.  

Park and I were walking home together, like always, but there was something different this time.  I didn’t know what it was, but you could feel that something wasn’t right.  It wasn’t the heat, not the humidity, but something was wrong.

I said farewell to Park when we reached his house.  CRACK! CRACK!  Gunfire was roaming through the streets.  

“Zyang, get inside!”  Park yelled.  I guess he heard the rifles as well.  

 Park’s mother told us, “hide in the attic until the fighting stops, then I’ll get you!”  The distress had gone to our brains, we froze, “just go! You have no time to waste!”  she yelled at us.  

“MOM!” Park cried.  But it was too late, she had already shut the door on us.

“Do you think she’s alright?”  he asked me.

“Why wouldn’t she be?” I answered.

“But she’s all alone down there… what if the soldiers get her!?!” He was panicking; I had to say something.

“They won’t, she’s the toughest mom I know,”  I assured him.

Hours later, there was a knock on the door of the attic.  Park urgently opened the door, embracing his mother.   We spent a few minutes on the futon, acting like a family.  It felt good to have more than just one person to sit down with.

“As soon as the soldiers kicked at the door, I knew I couldn’t leave,”  Mrs. Han explained.

“Then what did you do, Mom?  Did you punch those suckers to death?”  Park asked.

“I hid; it was a miracle they didn’t care to check under the futon,”  she responded.

Park held onto his mother for what seemed like hours.  Not a sound, but you could feel their warmth heating the room.  

Or it wasn’t them since fires raged the streets, smoke and dust filled the air.  Two locals rushed to me and demanded I come with them. “와, 어서, 우릴 죽이기 전에 나가야 해!” wa, eoseo, ulil jug-igi jeon-e nagaya hae!   The older one of the two took me by the wrist, and the younger one brought Park and his mother out of the house.

I ripped his hand off of mine and ran, ran down the streets of Seoul; I needed to know.  I bolted past soldiers;  I don’t even think they were from our army.  I passed two Chinese and North Korean tanks and glimpsed a lane of crumbling houses before I slid into a pile of gravel.  My home, my neighbors, and I pray not my mom.  If they got here in Seoul, they had to go through the 38th parallel.

The tanks and the men following them started making their way down south.  I snuck behind a pile of recently worn rubble.  After a few good minutes of waiting they turned the corner, and it was time for me to make my move.  

I darted past ripped walls, fallen roofs.  There it was, the warm, loving place I called home.  But cold, dirty, and dead.  No sight of my mom, and I was too weak to dig.  I pulled up what I could, but I just couldn’t find her.  “What if they took her like they took some of the others?” I asked myself.  There had to be a chance, and I was going to take it. 

A cold, lonely air filled the remains of Seoul; one day you have everything, the next, nothing.  I roamed the streets for anything, anything to smile about.  There wasn’t even sunlight, only dust, tears, and the stench of blood.  I used to have a great life.  I had everything; a family, a home, a best friend.  But all I can do now is remember.

Chapter 4

“Please, let me join, I need to!” I pleaded.

“You are young and certainly not qualified, I’m sorry,”  the soldier responded.

I lounged onto a fallen log by the camp.  It was like me, tired and hopeless.  “I’m sorry Mom, I wish I could.”   I couldn’t do anything if I couldn’t get into the army, but I needed to try.  I got back up and marched to the same soldier standing by the camp.

“Where does training take place?”  I asked him.

“You again?  Like I said, Kid, you’re not ready to fight,”  he explained to me.

“Then make me,” I continued.

“Make you?”  he questioned.

“Make me a soldier. I’ll be as fast as your fastest men, as smart as your smartest,”  I returned.

“You won’t,”  he retorted.

“Two weeks!”  I demanded.

“What?”  he questioned.

“Give me two weeks to prove myself,” I persisted, “To prove myself a soldi-”

“I doubt you will, but if you’re just going to stand here all day, you might as well be doing something,”  he answered.

He led me into the camp full of men.  There was barely anyone there, barely any volunteers.  “Where is everyone?”  I asked.  

“They’ve already been deployed to anywhere that isn’t occupied by the North.  At least that’s what general Chung Il-kwon told us,”  a large man answered.

Some other guy signalled all of us to an open field.  He had all those patches on his vest, so I assumed he’s general or something; all I know is that he thinks he’s better than me.

“We need every man there in South Korea to help.  We’re going to win this war because we have the strongest men!”  the man barked.

 I noticed him staring at me.

“IF YOU ARE UNDER SIXTEEN YEARS OF AGE GO HOME.  UNLIKE ME, YOUR FAMILY WANTS YOU!”  he continued.

He was still staring me down, but I was going to stand my ground like a real soldier until he gave us some real orders.

“IF YOU KNOW HOW TO FIRE A FIREARM, STEP FORWARD!”

Every one but me and another small, determined man stepped forward.

“Then go home,”  the officer fiercely whispered in the other man’s ear.

“SIR, YES SIR!”  The man responded.

“WE ONLY WANT THE MEN READY TO DIE FOR OUR CAUSE!”  the officer continued.

“STEP FORWARD IF YOU WILL DIE IN THE FIELDS!”

They all froze.  “I’m gonna live.”  I could hear them murmuring to each other.  I took a short step forward.  The officer looked at me; I looked him in his two fiery eyes,  “but it will be for our cause.”  

“CONTINUE YOUR TRAINING!”  he announced, so we dispersed.

“Hey, you, the small one.” It was the officer.  “You won’t make one day at this camp.  So go home and stay warm in your cozy bed.”  

I started to walk away when someone put their hands on me.  It was the soldier from the entrance of the camp.  “You won’t back down, will ya?  What’s the goal?  Justice?”

“I had left my mom, and now she’s gone,”  I explained.

“You have a strong heart kid,”  he told me.  “Good luck, and don’t get yourself killed.”  Then, he left.

-Zachary Dumlao

Chapter 21

     

It was a calm, summer night. Crickets chirped; fireflies buzzed. The soft wind danced through the moonlit fields as my family and I fell into a deep sleep. 

I was ever so close to some nice sleep, until something struck my curiosity. A quiet click echoed in the hot, humid air. Then a  ch-chick.  Before I knew, a loud BAM slashed through the night like a knight's stunning blade. All silence was lost in the never ending land. I stayed frozen in shock. My heart raced so fast; I felt as if my chest would rip open. Could that really be? If so, why so late at night? Why here!

I lunged my numb body out of bed and walked through the narrow halls. There was abrupt commotion outside. Reaching my parents bedroom was never such a difficult task. Screams echoing through the air and in my head. Trying my best to focus, I finally reached my parents room. I could hear my parents footsteps from behind the door. I reached out with my weary hand and pulled the door open.

My mother turned to me. “Marriyum? Is that you?” Her face was filled with indescribable fear. 

“Yes mother, it's Marriyum,” I revealed as my voice trembled. I took a small step through the doorway. My father's head was peeking out the window. He stared into my eyes.

“We must leave… now,” he said calmly, walking away from the window. How can he be so calm at a time like this? I thought. He quickly looked around. Then looked behind me. “Where is Genana?” he asked, concerningly.

Oh no! “I need to go get her!” I panicked. I bolted through the narrow halls. Unfortunately,  I didn’t realize my mother was shouting. It was until I saw the man in all black attire, right in front of me.

He carried a gun so intimidating; just the sight of it would be enough to kill you. Although, it wasn’t just his gun. Everything about him was intimidating. From his long black boots, to his shiny leather cap. Even his slim, dainty mustache. The word Nazi ran wild in my head. Nazi, Nazi, Nazi! Over and over. You could almost see the fear coming off me. I stumbled backwards in alarm. THUD!

“Aghhh!” I screeched. Pain flowed throughout my body, paralyzing me. A vicious pounding vibrated throughout my skull. My eyes started to water, but I held back. He glared down at me, his eyes like daggers.

“Pathetic Jew,” he laughed.

I awoke on a compact train with many other passengers. There were no seats, so everyone was sprawled out on the cold, metal floors. No windows either, only a tall door leading to the next cart of the train. The walls were bare with the same dull grey metal as the floors. On top of the floors and walls, nail marks and scratches gave off an unpleasant feel. 

Everyone else on the train also seemed as drained as I did. Children sobbing as their parents put all their efforts into calming them down. Their faces said it all; they went through what I went through. Suddenly, I remembered something. Jolting into an upright position, My family! I thought, as my head throbbed. “Agh, darn it” I murmured. I nervously looked around, hoping to see at least one of my parents, or maybe my sister. Nobody. I let out a small sigh. I wanted to cry even more now. But I was too weak, too tired to even cry. All I had left was an empty, hopeless feeling.

The train came to an uneasy halt. I steadily opened my sore, red eyes. As I waited for them to regain focus, I heard a man shouting throughout the train: “Everyone off now!” The door was hastily pulled open in order to get the many who were aboard out swiftly. “Everyone off now!” he repeated. Everyone flooded outside, pushing and trampling anyone in their way. With my head injured, it was difficult to do something as simple as standing. It wasn’t any better outside, in fact there seemed to be even more people.

As I exited outside I was greeted by black, cloudy skies. I carefully scanned the area. Sharp wire fencing surrounded the territory. Within those fences was multiple worn down buildings, all of them made of the same muted brick. Armed men guarded every side and every corner. I looked up at the sad skies again. This is it, the ghettos we all feared.

-Rachel Drozdyk

It's been a couple of days since I have seen a cop, but I don't want to see one as long as I live. 

When the cops took my brother there on that night, my brother and I were having dinner at the lodging home. We were sitting on the rugged wooden seats. The walls were bare, except for a huge metal fireplace. We were having our usual supper when cops walked in and looked around the room. They came to where we were sitting and grabbed him. They took him somewhere. I was sitting up on a rooftop where I moved after the cops took my brother. I had lived up there for two days. My best friend, Mush, also moved up there with me. 

As I was sitting up on the rooftop, I heard  Mush say, ̈ John let’s go.¨ 

¨Alright, I am coming down now,” I shouted down to Mush. I descended down the fire escape. 

¨You ready to go striking?¨ Mush asked. 

̈ Yes,” I remarked enthusiastically. 

¨Ok, I got where we are going today,̈  Mush told me. “We are going to Sixth Street.¨ 

̈ ̈Do you know what Sixth Street is like?¨ I asked.

̈ ̈No clue,¨ he responded.

After trekking five blocks, we finally got to Sixth Street. Our job once we got there was to beg people to not buy from The World or The Journal. 

We got there and saw some apartment buildings with rusty windows that would break a deafening creak. The paint was wearing off from the building to reveal chipped up concrete. There were some small food shacks that looked like the apartments, but all the buildings looked moderately the same. I was limping up to people, telling them not to buy from The World or The Journal. 

I said to a random woman, ¨ Please, Miss, don't buy from The World. They had cops send my brother to jail for telling people not to buy from them. I beg you, do not buy from The World,” I continued, making sure to add in some coughs for sympathy. The one was true, but sometimes I would make up a story. I said to one man, “Please, Sir, don't buy from The Journal. They had someone beat me up because I did not buy my usual number of paps,̈ I told him, making sure to limp. 

̈ ̈Here you go sir,̈  the man said, giving me a nickel. Sometimes if the people were very sympathetic they might give us money, but it was unusual. Mush and I would do that for a while before we would make our way to meet up with the other newsboys. 

̈ ̈Mush, you ready to go?¨ I asked. 

“In a little bit,” he replied. After he went up to the same man that gave me a nickel begging him not to buy from The World. The man also gave him a nickel. “Alright, let's go,” he remarked.

We walked to the other newsboys and gathered into a mob. I got into the middle and was hiding behind a lot of kids trying not to be seen. Some newsboys were holding up signs with slogans. We were marching around chanting, but I was not holding a sign or chanting anything; I was just staying in the middle. I saw an opening to move to the side, but I stayed in the middle.  I was doing this until two cops walked up the street. 

I walked out the opening and sprinted as hard as I could all the way back to the rooftop. When I got up there I could feel the sweat dripping down my forehead as my legs were hurting. I just sat down on the rooftop, thinking about the time I saw the cop at the lodging home, and where my brother could be. 

I was sitting on the rooftop feeling sorry for myself when Mush came up the fire escape and said, ¨John, not all cops are bad, most of them are good people. Until you can see that you will probably keep running away from every cop you see. Just so you know, those cops were just walking by; they were not even trying to arrest us. I am going back to help with the strike; you can join us if you want.¨ Just then Mush went down the fire escape. I did not end up joining the newsboys that day because I needed some time in solitude where I could gather my thoughts. 

The next day when I got up I went to a different street with Mush, but the day had become a routine: go to a new street and beg people not to buy from The World or The Journal. Then we would meet up with the other newsboys, but today felt different after yesterday; I felt like today I would run from a cop who walked by. Even though I was not going to run, I decided to take my case with me today. 

My case was something found on the street a couple of days before the cops took my brother. I carried it around to look scary so no one would try to beat me up. I had just kept it on the rooftop most days. 

When we were with all the other newsboys later in the day we were doing the same thing except I was on the side of the mob where everyone could see me, and I was chanting with the mob. I was holding my case in the air like a knight holding his sword before he charges. At that point some cops walked down the street, but I did not run not this time. I had been running from them for a while, and I was ready to stand my ground. The cops were probably just walking by, and there was nothing to worry about. As the cop got closer I kept repeating in my head, They are just walking by. There is nothing to worry about. There is nothing to worry about. 

As the cop kept getting closer and closer, I just kept thinking to myself, There is nothing to worry about, until it was pounding on the inside of my head. Then the cop was inches away from me, and he put his hand on my arm. I swung my case around as fast as I could and hit the cop in his old wrinkly face with it.

The newsboys started running and splitting up in all directions. It was just one big hoard of people running like a stampede. I had run through a back alleyway, but the cop had spotted me  through all the commotion. I could see the cop that I had hit with my case. His nose was bleeding  badly, and it was crooked like branches of a tree. His face appeared to be bright red, but it was hard to tell with all the blood on his face. He seemed very mad at me. I started running from him, but he followed me wherever I went. I would slide under and jump over obstacles and dash past other newsboys, but the cop had his mind set on getting me. 

Eventually when the cop had caught up to me, he tried to punch me. I stuck out my case and blocked a couple of punches and a kick before I said to the cop, “Are you insane?¨ The cop said nothing; he just tried to kick me again. This time I did not block it, and he kicked me in the leg. 

I ran away, and the cop kept chasing me yelling, “Stop, come back you ruffian.¨ I kept running until his voice trailed out. I was running through when I ran into Mush. 

¨I think I lost the cop on my tail. Anybody chasing you?¨ Mush asked. 

“Someone was, but I think I lost him,”I told him. 

“Let's go back to the rooftop,” Mush said, “but try not to draw too much attention to yourself.¨

“Ok,” I responded.

After figuring out where the heck we were, Mush and I made our passage back to the rooftop. This time, instead of sprinting back, we walked with all the other people. We did jump over and duck under obstacles to get home. When we got to the rooftop we just put our stuff down and went to bed, not talking to each other. 

The next day when we woke up we journeyed over to the same street with the newsboys. I was standing on the side of the mob again when a cop walked by us. It was not the same cop. That cop was probably recovering from his injury. The other cop walked up to us, but he looked familiar. He started handing out money to all of the newsboys. Each of us got a penny. Another cop walked by as he was handing out the pennies and said, “Are you serious, these are the kids who beat up the other cop?” 

“Just because one newsboy did something bad does not mean all of them are bad,” he barked back at the other cop. 

What that cop said stuck with me for a while, and I could not get it out of my head. When I was going home I casually strolled back to the rooftop, walking by every cop without a care in the world.       

-Ryan DeSaccia                                      

Flames

August 6th, 1945

“Attention!” Thomas yelled throughout the aircraft. No one really knew what he did and why he was here until now: “We’re going to be using the first ever nuclear missile to bomb the city of Hiroshima.” And just like that, my view of this whole mission had changed.

The room turned into a deafening circus. Lots of people had questions, like “What?” or “Why?” No one was expecting a little test run to turn into the first time a nuclear missile had been used in war against someone. 

“We’re doing what?” I asked, shocked at what my mind had just comprehended.

“You heard me, we’re going to use the first nuclear missile to bomb them Japs,” Thomas restated, making it sound like an ordinary, expected task.

“Ok then…” I added. The plane got as silent as a country night for about the next 20 minutes until it was time.

We were told to shield our eyes with our arms, and we were also given earplugs so the blast wouldn’t burst our eardrums. It was 08:14 in Japanese time. The boys were in the fuselage, loading the bomb onto the dropping platform. Everyone's hands were shaking vigorously. 

We were ready when Thomas counted us off. “Three… Two… One… GO!” The bomb was racing towards the ground like a million bullets. We drove the plane as fast as we could away from the bomb. We had never seen a nuke used before, so we didn’t know if it would blow us to microscopic pieces. We put on our earplugs and flew away in a hurry. No one had any idea of what would happen.

Even with earplugs on, you could hear the massive BOOM. I wanted to look back, but I knew I couldn’t. They told us to wait about a minute or two to look, and eventually, that time came.

It was the most beautiful and terrible thing I had ever seen. Red, yellow, and orange flames blistering the sorrow terrain. Eventually, that fire turned into smoke, and that smoke just turned to dust. All I could hear from the other guys was, “Wow…”
As fifteen or twenty minutes went on, I was curious about what happened under those clouds. I knew that innocent lives had ended because of all the flames and smoke. The boys snuck some booze on to the plane, and they were drinking away. Some were even smoking right near the plane engine. They took off their knoblebechers and were just partying like they were at home.

“Guys, what have we done?” I asked.

“What do you mean what have we done?” Theodore asked. Theodore was the navigator for our plane, and I didn’t like him one bit.

“Are you mental? We just brutally murdered hundreds of thousands of innocent humans!”

“And what makes you believe that?” he stupidly responded.

“Did you not see the flames or the smoke? Clearly someone died down there.” Some of the other guys were starting to step in and take part of our discussion.

William was the one and only person to agree with me. He went to military school with me and was our weaponeer. “Robert is right, guys, there are no military personnel in Hiroshima; we just ended innocent lives with no purpose.” 

I heard a lot of people say, “Yeah” or “I agree.” Theodore was still disagreeing with me.

“We had every right to; they held our people captive.”

“Yeah, but you don’t ruin normal people's lives. The citizens did nothing to us.” Now about everyone on the plane agreed with me. 

“I guess you're right,” Theodore muttered softly to himself.

“Guys, ever since I was a kid, all I wanted to do was see the vast and free world. But when we do things like this, we can’t.”

“We’re sorry, Robert, I can imagine how hard this may be for you,” William said sympathetically.

“It isn’t your fault, it is humankind's fault for creating this devastating weapon, just so we can attempt to end a war.”

Now I look back and say: “What could I have done differently?”

-Jackson Collins

CRASH! 

A deafening wave crashed against the LHD-7 aircraft carrier, waking me up. It all came back to me… gunshots, as the salty ocean water tapped against the window of the bottom deck. I got off, dropping down the full four rows of stacked bunks, to see where we were on our mission.

In the near distance, an island came into perspective through the open ocean mist. Fear struck me as the boat held course towards the Japanese territory. Every foot closer we got, I got more and more anxious, knowing that it was all going downhill from here. 

The boat docked on the shore. We all trudged off, my U.S. Marine badge gleaming in the mid-day sun. My boots sunk into the tattered ash so far that they almost disappeared from sight. We all wavered in terror. Despite the dormant volcanic mountain and the ash that embedded the dry, cracked earth, something stuck out to me. I contemplated the shaded garrison looming towards the sky. I felt distraught as I stared at the tower; it’s fanged poles and grimacing look puzzled me. The more I looked at it, it seemed like it was ready to devour me. A brandish banner was mounted on the far right of the Imperial Army’s bunker. I stood there with my mouth dropped in awe. 

“There’s no going back,” I mumbled as I turned to glance at the dark blue ocean currents. 

“Get to your grid squares!” called out General Holland Smith, making sure the code-talkers got to their positions. 

The code talkers dispatched to their positions. A few of the soldiers stood back as we proceeded to build dugouts and performed radio calls to test the systems. About halfway through the tests, the first shot was fired from the Japanese army. It all seemed to go in slow motion. My heart was racing, frantically reaching for my M1 Carbine, everyone scrambling to get down and circumvent the penetrating bullets. This was it, this was the start of the Battle of Iwo Jima.

We all ducked under the dugout, eluding the shots. We were impotent to fire until our general gave us the signal. 

“Hold your fire!” called out General Smith.

We all froze there with bullets whizzing by our heads. The fear and trauma diffused over us like a disease. I stayed positioned there, lingering with impatience to fight back.

“FIRE!!” hollered General Smith.

        All around me, people were dropping from each side. It was like for every death in the Japanese army, someone was shot on our side, like a train going in circles. Through all of this pain and fear welling up inside of me, I continued to shoot. This was our chance to give Japan what they deserve for bombing Pearl Harbor. 

Static came from my radio. I could not hear the Navajo code over all of the gunshots. The ground rumbled. I feared it was coming from the Imperia4exl Japanese army. Jet engines thundered over me. There it was. The B-27 Superfortress flew overhead. The 4-engine, propeller-driven bomber wasn’t any joke, especially when it was soaring from the USS Iwo Jima (LHD-7) aircraft carrier, coming to save us, our hero. 

      “Kinetic bombs dropping at the northern base!” Alerted General Smith over the radio system.

The bomb precipitated to the ground, descending at a rapid rate, ready to detonate. BANG! The deafening sound wave sent all of us down, including me, to cover our ears as the bright sky grew dark with ash. The reverberating sound echoed in my head.  Through the dim light, the dust slowly cleared away, showing the desecration of the Japanese airbase. 

I looked out in the open battlefield. The ash clouds parted ways to let the slightest beam of light shine on us.

“Was that it?”

 “Is it over?” called out some of the marines.

          “Yes, It’s over,” replied General Smith, “It's over.