General Greenway’s breathing is uneven, but his heartbeat is steady. He’s asleep right now when I check on him, wondering if he’s okay. Turns out he’s fine.

Noah is sitting on a chair, his arms and legs crossed. His green eyes are unfocused as he scowls. I wonder what he’s thinking about now.

It’s oddly quiet as I pace around, wondering how this war will end. Perhaps when one of the generals dies, then the war might end. But it won’t be General Greenway who dies first.

“What’re you doing here, soldier?” says a soft, female voice. It’s Xentia. Her deep brown eyes are curious as she looks at me, up and down. Xentia’s black hair is tied up into a loose bun, a single strand curling down on her forehead.

“Uh. Checking on Greenway,” I say.

She raises an eyebrow before saying, “Well, okay. You did. Why aren’t you going?” She places a hand on her hip. Her apron is dark with blood as well as her white sleeves. It looks as if she murdered someone. “Hello? Soldier?”

“I.” I can’t think of anything. Must come up with an excuse. “Wanted to check on Noah?” It’s a question, wondering if I can check on the still grieving nurse.

Xentia turns her head towards Noah, and sighs. “If he starts yelling at you, don’t blame anyone but yourself, okay?” Then she goes off, tending a wounded female soldier who is screaming about the end coming.

What do I say to Noah? The question rings in my head as I walk towards him.

“Hey,” I say softly.

Noah blinks and looks at me, a shadow darkening his face. “Hey.” The way he says it, it seems as if he wants me to go away.

“Um...are you...okay?” I flinch at my poor word choice.

The man sighs loudly and heavily. “Doing as best as I can. With Fallon gone... Cira gone... Jackson gone... and Abel gone… I’m just wondering who’s next, you know?” He gives me a broken look.

“W-who’s Fallon and Cira?” I inquire, dragging my shoe in the ground.

“Fallon was my dog. Cira was… my sister. Man... wasn’t she something? Always nice, supportive, and caring...yet God took her away from me. She did nothing wrong—nothing! Yet, while just walking to her friend’s place with her husband, this car went by and shot her. Only her. Like, what did that person have against my older sister? And the dreadful thing was, she was pregnant." Noah’s face twists violently.

“Oh, god...I-I’m sorry to hear that.” I'm shocked. Noah has gone through so much emotional pain. All the pain I’ve been through was mostly physical.

Noah shrugs and says, “What can I do about it? It’s not like I can rewrite history, can I? All I can do is sit back and watch all the people I love die. Because God hates me. ‘It’s because you’re Christian’, my parents told me. ‘And you’re gay’.” Noah makes quotes with his fingers. He leans back against the chair.

A bomb explodes and shakes the cabin.

“We’re going to die!” screams a wounded female soldier hysterically.

“Cynthia!" chastises Xentia.

“We’re all going to die...!” Cynthia begins to cry as she covers the moth-eaten sheets over her head.

Noah gives a bitter smile as he says, “Now I’m just thinking to myself—what’s going to be of me? What's going to happen to my son? How can I raise Fallix on my own without my husband? I never thought I’d be a single dad. Life’s cruel that way. It lies to you that you will have a good, happy life, but everything shatters because of what God has planned for you. Or sometimes you’re very lucky and life is good. Real good." Noah scowls.

I don’t say anything, wondering what he's going to say next.

“Sometimes, I wish that...oh, I don’t know, dead? Then maybe other people I care about will stop dying?!” Noah shakes his fist to the ceiling.

“What?” I say. “You don’t mean that, do you?” I ask him nervously.

He rolls his eyes and says, “I mostly mean it. But I want to see my son grow, get married, and live a good life. I mean, if both of his dads are dead...” Noah shakes his head, pain masking his face.

That’s awful...I think, giving Noah a sympathetic look.

“It’s not like I’m going to commit suicide, though it is an option,” Noah grins warily.

“But your son...?” I say, waiting for him to continue.

“Yeah. Fallix. God, I still don’t know if I can tell him that Abel died. It’s been half a year now but still. I didn’t write a letter or anything because I’m scared to tell my son what happened to his daddy...oh, my beautiful husband.” Noah twists his face painfully, running his hand through his hair. “Sorry, sorry, I never considered the fact that you might be homophobic.” He cringes.

“I-I’m not.”  At least I don’t think I am. It's probably the fact that I don’t understand? I shake my head wildly, saying, “You're fine." But saying the word “fine” sounds wrong. Noah would never be “fine”. Nothing will be “fine”. I won’t be “fine”.

“Um. N-Noah?” Xentia approaches us.

“Yeah?” Noah looks at her questioningly.

“Um. W-well. W-what I-if I told y-you t-that Cynthia um. P-passed out?" Xentia has a distressful look on her face.

“So?” Noah says.

“She uh. She’s in labor?” Xentia says tensely.

“What?! When? Why? How?” Noah looks stunned as he jumps out of the chair, rushing over to Cynthia. “I don’t understand! She didn’t even look pregnant! And isn’t she already losing blood right now?! From the wounds?” Noah hovers over Cynthia, testing her pulse and breathing.

“What’s going on?” I inquire, voice tight.

“Cynthia, Cynthia! Wake up!” Noah shakes the wounded, pregnant soldier.

Cynthia wakes, gasping, a hellish howl ripping out of her throat. “The end! Is near!”

So that’s what she meant by “the end”?

Noah lets out a growl. “I’m a freaking nurse, not an obstetrician! Anyone here know how to deliver a child?!” He looks around frantically.

“You shouldn’t serve in the war if you’re pregnant!” scolds Xentia to Cynthia.

“I don’t care!” Cynthia shoots back angrily.

That is when a soft voice timidly says, “Um. I know how to deliver kids.” When he says this, Noah ushers him to Cynthia.

“We’re going to have to do a C-section," says the male. We all gawk at him.

“Uh...” says Xentia. “You sure...?”

The male nurse nods sharply, saying in a brisk tone, “She’s hysterical and weak. If we don’t do so, she and her child will die.”

What a strange day. I place a hand on my head, feeling a small headache throbbing.

Everything happens fast and I’m shoved outside.

“Don’t enter,” says the male nurse. “Go kill people or something.”

“Go kill people or something”? And he’s a nurse. What the hell. I sigh. I swing Fili Mi forward, getting ready to walk away when someone grabs my shoulder and pulls me inside of the cabin.

“Can you calm Cynthia down?” says Noah hysterically. He shakes me hard. “I’m going to lose my mind!” He does look a bit mad.

I’m beside Cynthia who’s screaming about death, the end, and how she wishes a guy named Steven to be with her. It hurts my ears and my head feels like it’s going to explode.

“Why is he here? He is a soldier and soldiers aren’t supposed to be in here unless injured or dead,” says that nurse from earlier.

“Why, you little—” I begin but Noah interrupts me, saying loudly, “He’s helping out! Stop bothering him, Ethan!”

Ethan scowls and gives a curt one-shoulder shrug. He faces Cynthia while ordering Xentia to fetch whatnot.

I have never seen a woman deliver a child, so this is unnerving, uncomfortable, and new.

The sight of the blood overwhelms me; I’m dizzy at the sight of it. I suck in sharp breaths, shuddering as I tell Cynthia to take deep breaths. I turn away as Ethan gets to work.

“Hey! Good job.” Ethan praises the tired soldier. “You have a daughter,” he grins at her.

“Ugh...g-good. M-my daughter’s f-fine?” Cynthia asks groggily.

Ethan nods.

Cynthia passes out.

Xentia takes the wailing child and cleans her up before giving her to Cynthia.

So tiny, I note. In fact, too small.

Ethan purses his lips as he says, “Hm. Premature birth...looks three months early?” He shakes his head, sighing noisily.

Xentia daps a wet cloth on Cynthia’s forehead. She brushes her blonde hair away. She says in a soft voice, “Poor, poor Cynthia...working as a soldier, could have lost her baby...what a cruel world.”

I’m kicked out again.

I place my hands behind my head, trying to focus on my uneven breathing.

Great. Simply great. Now what’s next? I’m going to get shot or something? I scoff at the idea. I’ve been doing well for the last year. I doubt that I am going to get shot. But who knows?

Nah, there's no way I’m going to get shot. Why? Because so far, I’ve never been shot. I’m lucky that way...

Don’t take it for granted, warns a quiet voice in the back of my head.

Maybe.

But I know that today, I won’t get shot. Or anything bad will happen. It’s getting darker now.

I head to the soldiers’ cabin and find Carman there.

“Hey, Carman,” I greet him.

“Hey,” says Carman glumly.

“What is it?” I approach him, staring at the letter in his hands. “What’s that?" I wonder.

“A note from my fiancée,” comes Carman’s dry response. “Look what she said to me.” He shoves me the letter.

In a nice scrawl, the note reads:

Dear Carman,

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m scared about losing our house. I can’t pay the rent ever since I lost my job due to the death of Melody Jane, our beautiful daughter. I’m completely overwhelmed and helpless. Please, Carman, come home. If you can’t come home soon, I’m afraid I might have to leave. Not because I don’t love you—I always will love you, Carman. It’s because what can I, a single woman without her fiancé and no job, do anything? I’m thinking about moving back with my parents. Or, I don’t know, go to James? For a while, that is, until you come back. But I’m scared out of my mind, Carman. The rent payment is due in a week, and I have no money. You don't have any money in your bank account either. I will give you a week's timing, Carman Lunder. If you don’t come back, I’m afraid that I might have to leave. And that means no wedding. It’s not because I hate you, Carman. It’s because of what is going to happen. Please don’t take this wrongly, Carman.

Regards, Jane Sophie Farmer

Carman takes the note when I give it to him.

“So much for ‘happy ever afters’. Why is she doing this to me? Doesn’t she love me?” Carman’s voice becomes small. He crumbles the note in his hand. “Well, I’m sorry that I’m poor,” he snarls to himself. “I can’t help the fact that I grew up in a poor, black community...and that you did as well. I meant well, I did, when I said that we were going to get married, have a big family, and become rich. I meant it. But the war, this war that is going on...I’m sorry, Jane. But why leave me? Why?” Carman looks like he’s fighting back tears.

“Oh geez, Carman...” I murmur to him.

He laughs bitterly. “Whatever,” he tries to dismiss.

On second thoughts, I doubt anything is going to get better.

And I fall asleep, thinking about how messed up the world really is.