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"The Day That Changed My Life"
Okay guys, I wrote this in twenty minutes in English as a practice creative writing task. We were given the prompt in the form of the title...which has to be the worst prompt EVER. But anyway, this is what I made of it - blast it please, I need to get it right when I actually do the task.
Waking with a plan.
The day that changed my life.
Putting that plan into motion.
The week that changed my life.
2101.
The year that changed my life.
It has always confused me as to why war is romanticised in fiction. I have never understood how so much blood, so much screaming, so much pain could ever be fantasized about. People think it was these fantasies that started that year. Dreams of heroism, of medals and girls. Probably not dreams of misery and destruction. In fact, I know it was the complete opposite that started all this – dreams of happiness.
Other people’s happiness.
I thought, if everyone else can be happy and I can’t be…why not spread my despair? Make them feel my pain. Make men scream and women cry. Make hell loose so children could die. It’s what I wanted, and what I want is what I always get.
In the week that followed I signed forms, shook hands, killed a politician and pinned the blame on an ally. I watched all hell break loose. It’s funny to see so many willing to die just because some old fat guy had his face blown in.
In the year that followed women screamed, men cried and children died. Rivers ran blood, the grass grew red. Homes were destroyed, countries were destroyed…people were destroyed. Eventually it settled down…after the world’s population dropped by a grand total of a third.
I don’t know, maybe I felt overcrowded, but at any rate – I’m happy now.
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