The mountain on the island

The ringing in my head struck a chord in my body. It was the only telltale sound that proved I was alive. After the ringing sound in my head subsided to a dull throb. My eyesight had recovered from witnessing the tears and sobs of the children that hid behind a tree as the bombs tore apart all the tree’s insight to kill us all.

After I picked myself up, I realized that from my elbow down. I didn’t have an arm. It was gone. The only thing left was a bone sticking out, bleeding flesh that confirmed that I had lost half of my arm. The scorching pain hit me like a tidal wave. It had made me cry and scream, but after about 5 minutes of my wailing, I finally stopped. Action movies exaggerate when they somehow have the strength to stand up and still fight. My arm felt like it was on fire.

I looked up to see the kids, that looked terrified. I didn’t know if it was about the arm gone or the bombs that continuously hit the island. It was probably both. When I saw that, they stared at my arm with distaste. I finally took off my shirt to stop the bleeding and hide it from sight. Albeit it took about 6 minutes to take it off, of course.

The kids had it bad they were crying and huddled up together as if that would protect them. When I approached them, they were even more scared.

I needed to protect them. It was a bunch of 7 years old. Upon closer inspection did, I see that three were injured. Out of all the injured, the worst one had a big gash on the back of the leg.

We had to find shelter; the bombing had ceased for the moment, hopefully giving us enough time to do so.