The End

June 11, 2017
By littlecjd BRONZE, Clarkston, Michigan
littlecjd BRONZE, Clarkston, Michigan
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

It had been a period of time since the last meeting between these two, and to set everything straight, it was not going to be pretty. Cities had been torn apart, friend separated from foe, and only the truest were left standing. Four years already, and there was no sign of an ending. That is, if these two don’t sort things out. All that was asked was that they came to their senses, to prevent the end of it all, and advocate for peace to end it all, to end the terror, the bloodshed, to end the War.
  It had been a while since he had arose to power, him being Vitale Marchand, leader of the People’s Republic of Croatia, a ruthless dictator responsible for the murder of twenty-five million. No one could ever ponder the thought that a young farmhand could ever gain so much political strength, but he did, and it would not be easy.
Gallagher Warrick, an Irish War hero, had seen a similar fate. Returning home from the so called ‘Great War’ around thirty years earlier. After experiencing the true horrors of war, even losing a leg in the fight for democracy, Warrick was no stranger to the dread of the battlefield. The world shook as he took each and every step, there was no match to the lives he had saved.
Face to face, the world was coming to an end, it had been evident. Ten million lives alone had been lost in the last six months, and the war had not shown any kind of end, despite the fact that the two most powerful leaders on Earth were poised, ready, with codes at their fingertips. Negotiations for peace had been discussed, however it was not likely. The hotline that ran between the two superpowers had rang on, each nation refusing to pick up. Now, Face to face, the world at their fingertips, the last hope for peace.
“What is there left to do? Peace?” Marchand demonstrated power as he spoke.
“The world is toast, we’re the only ones who can save it.”
“Why be a part of history, when there will be no history at all?” He was right, there had already been plans to reshape the world, that is, if there is any world left. However, with the Oceans clean of fish, the lands killed off, and the air empty of birds, there is nothing left.
“We can rebuild.” Warrick spoke softly, however there was a particular sense of urgency in his tone. “It will be possi-” the world shook, all life paused for a moment, the ground roared as the buildings crumbled. Lights flickered, then were lost to eternity. Towns burned, Oceans dried, Life everlasting burnt to a crisp. The light seemed distant now, the blur of white engulfed the earth. The shadow of a mushroom cloud had appeared evident, covering the world in ash and dust. If anyone were to survive there would be nothing left, nothing but memories, memories of what life was like before the war, before the bombs, the cities, the rise to power, before The End.

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