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Primary. Years 3/4/5/6

My War

By McKenzie Rich, year 6, Vauvert School

Tears dribbled down my cold face. My trembling, cold hands tried to wipe them away but the sheer pain held them down. Earlier this morning we were moving rubble to pass through the wrecked wasteland, when a sharp piece of faded glass ripped through my raw skin. It feels much worse now. I blacked shortly after the accident. Mother says it was because of blood loss, she’s the only one who cares. The other refugees have no care for me. For us.
Soon we are walking again. The streets were dark and cold, not like before. “Before the fighting everything in Syria was happy and calm,” so my mother tells me. I was born in the war. I’ve grown up in fear of the day ahead of me, and I can’t say I’ve become used to it. Every day I walk. Every day I see soldiers lying dead on the ground. Every day I see innocent people die but every time it’s different, although I think the same questions. Why does this foul war still go on? Why fight our own kind? Why can’t people just be happy? Yet it seems no one else thinks the way I do.
Soon the sun dies and darkness floods the empty land, leaving us once again stranded in the cold, dreading the night ahead. I watch my mother as she sleeps. She is the only thing I have and I won’t let anyone take her away from me. Having her makes me feel hope. Hope that one day we might live long, happy lives together. Then reality hits me; all my happy thoughts get ripped away from me and I am back here. Cold. Alone. Scared.
I just don’t understand why this horrid war lives on? I just wish it would stop. Please.

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