The whole town was being brought down to shatters. The children screamed at the top of their voices, baffled at what was happening around them, on a Sunday. Men and women were struggling to find refuge under unusual places. What was happening? Little did I imagine that, one day, I would be standing in the midst of a terrible war. Squads of men, dressed as military soldiers, landed themselves from suspended ropes, from helicopters. Their helmets and guns gleamed under the rays of the morning sunshine. My house was one of the luckiest structures standing boldly. However, the boundary walls were broken down to pieces. My first thought was not to save anything from inside the house, but to protect my family. My father had been away for a month now, and would return only on Wednesday. I strongly wished he had been with us. But, that definitely was not the time to wish for the impossible at all. Just as I was thinking, I heard a shrill scream deafen my ears. The pitch of the scream was so high, it pierced right through my ear drum, and straight to the heart, making it beat against my ribs harder than ever. It was the lady from the neighbour house. She came running up to my mother, “What is happening here? I sent him to his grandmother’s just yesterday. And...” She sobbed. All she could do was sob, and only sob. Her sobs came in ragged gasps. Having sent her son of six to her mother’s house, she wanted to see her son. Even if it was for just once and for all, she definitely would never have minded that. She covered her face in her cupped hands and cried pathetically.

I was able to spot an enormous military tank coming into view. It all seemed like I had fallen into an old Russian book I have; the only difference, I am being compelled to undergo the situation in reality: something which I never wished for. The tank came to a halt right in the middle of the field. All the people running about helplessly, gradually stopped for a split second of time. I did not have a good feeling about the deafening silence prevailing the situation. Something dreadful was going to happen...

This was the apt moment to get my family to safety, I thought. Every second seemed the difference between life and death. But, this was definitely not the moment to lose my courage. I had to face what lay ahead of me. My grandmother and my sister were holding hands, and stood under the porch, trembling with fear.

“Get to the terrace. Now. Slow and steady,” I whispered in my sister’s ear. She took my grandmother’s hand and moved towards the stairs leading to the terrace. A dreadful feeling surged past my heart. What if the tanks aimed at them? Have I failed to take a wise decision? I had my eyes fixed on the gun part of the tank, whilst my fingers were feeling restless. What was I to do now? My mother was standing a yard away from me. I wished she was close to me, but I dared not make the slightest movement. Everything was still. Calm. Grave. The silence was broken by the distant cry of a small child, crying pitifully. She looked on all sides, apparently searching for her mother, unaware of the danger surrounding her. I would have helped the innocent soul, if circumstances had permitted. She wailed innocently. The next moment, a gunshot echoed throughout the arena. The child was shot down by a soldier from the distance. How ruthless! Did God place a gentle heart, or is it a rock that he had placed in the place of the heart? Did they have no feelings? The sight of the child falling down dead made my eyes grow red with anger. All these happened within a matter of seconds.

The tank started firing at all the places, in all directions, trying to bring them flat to the ground. Everything and everyone was fired at; dozens of lifeless bodies lay everywhere around me. The ambience was totally red with blood. Me and mother were hiding at the back of what was left of a wall.

“Mom, get to the terrace as fast as you can,” I yelled amidst all the confusion, though she was next to me. “No time to waste. Come on, quick, mother.”

She hesitated, but I insisted her to get going quickly, and make haste. She hurried on. By this time, dozens of tanks had arrived at the spot, and fired at everything that caught their sight. One part of my house was totally destructed, let alone the remaining part and the terrace were quite safe. The whole place was cloudy, and the growing mass of dust arising from the broken walls blocked my eyesight. Bouts of cough attacked me, adding to the severity of the moment.

“The whole place is in dust clouds,” I panted to myself, “which means the tanks might be aiming at something I might never guess. Who knows, it can even be aiming in my direction now.” I started panicking, and moved away from the wall behind which I was hiding, for my dear life. It happened. Being a yard away from the wall now, I witnessed it being fired with my own eyes. I was thrown backwards with a force that was mighty powerful. I was able to feel a burning sensation on my face; blood trickled down from my temple. My elbows and knees were hurt badly and bleeding; my left foot was sprained and twisted to a grotesque angle. I cried for help. I felt hopeless, helpless, but I finally succeeded in getting up. I limped with my right leg and climbed the stairs at top speed. My little sister was screaming, in spite of my mother telling her not to.

“Mother!” I cried in delight. I grasped the bitter truth: the best moments of happiness arise from amidst terrible moments of grief, so I decided to make use of those precious seconds wisely. I hugged my mother, and kissed my sister on the head.

“It’s alright. We’re going to be fine. We’re going to be just fine, okay?” I tried soothing my sister to my level best. That very instant, an automated tank landed on the other corner of the terrace from a military helicopter. How was that possible? But, it happened. It was real, no doubt. Then, it aimed straight at me. I closed my eyes, and shut them tightly.

“I might not be one of those survivors, let it be. Save my family from them: it is what I ask for. Nothing else. I will have to face what I have to. Let me,” I quoted to myself, as I stood there facing the tank.

It fired at me. Eyes closed, I fell to the ground. I fell to the ground for once and for all. I died. Yes, I died, eyes closed. That was the end.

When I opened my eyes, things were totally different. Where was my family? They were nowhere to be found. I was still lying. This time, in my bed, comfortably. On my table, the book Reminiscences and Reflections by G. Zhukov lay as quiet as can be. It was an old book on the Soviet war memoirs. I was not in the terrace, but in my room. It was a dream! A war nightmare! Just a dream. I ran into the kitchen and found mother and grandmother laughing on some topic. Father was busy reading the newspaper, and my little sibling was sound asleep. They were engaged in their routine life, unaware of the fact that I had experienced an adventure of the lifetime! Everything was just as usual. I was totally relieved, because it never happened.

One thing I inferred from this was, I would never want to fall into an adventure for real. Indeed, none would. I always used to have a craving for adventures. Like, being in the midst of a tense battlefield, falling into a supermassive black hole, getting stuck in a whirlpool, meeting dinosaurs, and many other peculiar forms of my imagination. But, maybe I wanted an adventure because I thought I definitely would be alive in the long run. Everyone who have a craving for adventures would want to risk their lives, either because they know it would turn out to be just a dream, or they would certainly expect a happy ending. If both the choices fail to be available, adventures are out of the question. Anything daring, which has yet not been attempted, becomes an adventure. Even a dream had the potential to induce the fear of wars in me, and it even chased me to the extremes of terrible fear. What can we say about the real victims then, where they live their worst nightmares in reality? Let us think of their condition; realize their surreptitious pain in tranquility.

Wars should be prevented from killing the masses. This is not the responsibility of someone, it is ours. We have to come forward to stop them from growing. What do we get as a result of wars? Misery, sorrow, grief, deaths, loss, loss, loss. Imagine the pathetic mother holding her baby in hand; no more alive to enjoy the beauty of the world, but gone after experiencing calamity. Let alone the acquiring of powers, wars are packed with sadness. I say this as a victim of war, who has travelled to an another world, survived the war surprisingly, and returned back to where I belong. Let us put our hands together to bury wars, and promote peace throughout the world. We might be people belonging to different countries, but, we are all the children of Mother Earth. Let us not disappoint her by fighting among ourselves. Borders divide countries, not our brotherhood!