The Lost

That is what they called themselves, this rag-tag group of survivors. They felt lost and were actually often geographically lost. After the wars that ended the world they few who had survived in the city gathered together and started heading south. They had no maps and no compass, but they knew the sun still rose in the east and set in the west so they knew that they were headed in the right direction, that was until the dust and smoke from the burning of the world engulfed them, on those days they would wonder sometimes for hours in the wrong direction never knowing until the sky had cleared enough for them to see the sunrise. In the year that they had been walking they had seen terrible, terrible things. Things that stained their memories for ever. They travelled during the day for it was safer and found hiding places at night. They met few other survivors learning very quickly to avoid them. But every once in a while they would stumble across another who would join their group and tell stories of horror and hope, the hope of a place that had food, rules, clean water and a community that was thriving. So they continued their journey despite everything, each of them holding close to a small spark of hope that one day they would be found.

The Trust

She had inherited the money when she was five, but it had been held in trust for her until she was 25. Twenty years she spent in poverty never knowing that she was the one that had inherited her grandfather's estate. A grandfather she had never meet, a grandfather who had judged her mother unworthy and disowned her like she was nothing, a grandfather who had accumulated so much money that many believed him to be the richest man in the world, a grandfather who had left all to her perhaps out of guilt for his treatment of her mother. The trust was run by a small group of trustees, headed by her uncle. The uncle who had become her guardian on her mother's death, the uncle who had not disowned his only sister like his brothers had. the uncle that she loved and trusted and who had claimed they had nothing, the uncle who was swiftly going through her money like it grew on trees. When the lawyer knocked on her door and gave her the will and trust documents she started laughing, laughing at the injustice of it all, laughing at the audacity of her uncle, laughing at the regret of her grandfather, laughing at the lack at money that had forced her to turn down the acceptance to Harvard, laughing at her lot in life. When she stopped laughing she sat down and cried.

Cheering is a Sport, Dammit!

He had made it to the pinnacle of his career. He was the President of the most powerful country in the world. He commanded one of the strongest armies ever to exsist. He had it all. Or so it seemed, but underneath it all he was a simple man. He liked hanging out with his friends and being on his ranch. When he looked in the mirror he did not recognize the old man who looked back. God, this job was way more stressful then anyone told him it would be. He really just wished he could go back to that time in his life when he had been the happiest. Cheering! Cheering! Cheering!

The Art of War

The goose bumps rose up on her arms as she aimed her bowed and let loose the arrow. It flew swiftly and hit the pile of brush set up on the opposite peak. The brush burst into flame signally the warriors below that the advancing army was headed their way. She slung her bow over her shoulder and made her way, as fast as she could, down the mountain side. She wanted to be there with her regiment when they went into battle. This would be the fight of their lives. Everything they held true and dear was at stake. She joined her regiment just as they were preparing to head to the front lines. She refilled her arrow pouch adjusted her sword and bid farewell to her younger sister who would be staying behind to tend to the wounded. Her commander yelled the advance and she and the 100 other women in her regiment set off. As they approached the battle field she could smell the sickening stench of blood and knew that there was a chance she would not survive this battle. She prepared herself and as they reached the battle field she saw the chaos and did not hesitate, she rushed in with bow and arrow felling two of the enemy before they even knew what happened. When she ran out of arrows she withdrew her sword form its scabbard and plunged toward the fray. To her left and right were the women she had trained with from the time of her sixth year. As she fought on she would catch occasional glimpses of the red hair woman leading the regiment to the left of hers. The woman fought with such brilliance it was if she were a goddess of war sent to rescue them from this battle. But in the end she was merely a mortal and an arrow from the enemy pierced the red haired warrior's chest and she fell. When she saw the red haired warrior fall she wanted to scream in pain and lie down and cry, but the battle was not over and she had to finish this for she was an Amazon Warrior and if she was lucky there would be time after they won this battle to mourn her mother’s death.