I don't remember much about the bombings,even though it was 3 days ago.
Apparently, exessive amounts of morphine to a child under 12 causes for memory loss.
I only remember to my sleep-deluded haze that my brother led me to safety, then, after promising me he would be back, left.
He never did.
A scout was sent up to collect anything we could use , and came back with many things, but most importantly, a bloody, tattered shirt, with flesh sticking to the back of it.
That scout was my sister, and she knew it was Danny's shirt.
I remember screaming, and the patrols shooting me with a tranquilizer gun.
Hourly doses of morphine keep me docile and obedient.
It helps numbs the pain, it makes me forget, for a while.
When it wears away,I start panicking, and I quickly get some more.
My mother and father, dead.
My brother, blown up.
My older sister problably never woke up when she was blown to bits.
Only my second older sister, Cecilia,remains.
Quick and agile,as sly as a fox, and cunning like a wolf, she was part of the rebellion, one of the masterminds of the plan at 16.
Deadly with an array of weapons, she was also one of our best fighters.
I remember her sitting next to me when I overdosed on morphine.
"You'll have to fight eventually,Elvira.You can't sleep forever."
Yes I can, I thought fiercely.
Without my brother or my parents, what's the point of waking up?
It already costs me to much to think about them.
I inject myself with morphine,and I pass out.
The arrow hits the target perfectly.
I try again, and again, and bulls-eye, each time.
I sigh. This is too easy.
I put the bows on a nearby table, and I run to visit my morphine-obsessed sister.