October 26, 1962 – B-59 Soviet Submarine 
“We... U.S... Please... we should hit...” the radio sputtered  
Captain Savitsky gasped loudly, “Did you hear that, Arkhipov? It is from an American radio broadcast. I told you they were targeting our submarine!”  
I sighed and told him, “Take a deep breath Captain, there is no need to panic. Premier Khrushchev will inform us of the situation tomorrow. What we just heard was most likely about another U.S vessel. It is 1-week until our 3-month stint is over and we cannot let our fellow submariners lose hope in getting back home.”  
"I'm telling you they will attack us,” he muttered under his breath as he walked back to his cabin.  
The stench of sweat had grown in our submarine over the past few days, and to make it worse, the temperature continued to rise as we descended deeper into the ocean. Every day we hoped for the sunlight that we longed for, for the land we had not felt, and for the people we missed.  
---------- ---------- 
Later that evening, I laid in my cramped cabin, staring at the metal roof; each crack and dent already engraved in my head. 
 In July, our Union sent multiple submarines near America and more nuclear missiles to Cuba. Everyone on the ship was worried that Premier Khrushchev would decide to launch the missiles and trigger a nuclear war, especially when we were away from our families. 
The motor thumped quietly in the background, like a heartbeat, giving our ship life. Something we can take from millions of others. Premier assured us that the nuclear torpedo was for defense, and we would not need it because there are enough missiles deployed in Cuba. But its presence to me is like a ticking bomb. With one click, Florida could be gone. All its people. All its life.  
 
October 27, 1962 – B-59 Soviet Submarine 
Bang.  
I awoke to the sudden loud noises coming from the hallway. My entire body, no, my entire room was shaking. That can't be from the motor, I thought. So, I looked out my window confused, expecting the blinding lights I usually see, giving the familiar buildings in Moscow a beautiful glow. Except I saw my hollow reflection, staring right at me. 
Nothing ever happens down here, what could it possibly be?  
I sighed as I stumbled out of the door; my eyes were barely open. 
“Oh, Arkhipov!” I heard a voice behind me shouting. I turned around to find the crew standing around Captain, who was frantically pacing and had sweat dripping down his cheeks. Along the hallway, a thin layer of debris coated the floor.  
“Yes sir,” I responded dully, checking the clock to find that it was only 2 in the morning. “Why is everyone awake?”  
“Did you feel that shake just now?” Captain asked. 
“Yes sir,” I repeated. “Are you aware of what caused it?”  
“That is exactly why I need you. With these old eyes, the periscope is no help to me. Will you help me look?”  
“Of course, sir,” I answered.  
I lightly pressed my face onto the lenses and gazed through the periscope. Right after clicking on the flashlight, the sudden brightness made me flinch. Soon, I adjusted to the light, while something strange glinted in the corner of my eye. I quickly spun the periscope in that direction, afraid it would drift away. It was a piece of metal. But how could that possibly cause the entire submarine to shake?  
I shifted the lenses around, perplexed. Another sliver of metal appeared in the distance. This one appeared to be more familiar, as though it fits into something else. It was also painted blue on the sides. I increased the magnification. Then, it hit me. It's not just painting; it's words. I squinted my eyes and read two letters, "U. S".  
Captain was correct.  
The Americans were targeting us, and they hit us with a depth charge.  
I lifted my face off the device and spun around to tell Captain, “It was the Americans. They tried to drop a depth charge on us. You were right, sir.”  
“I was right!” he exclaimed to the crew, as his sweat dripped onto his shirt from his red face. “The war started without us! We’re gonna blast them now! We will die, but we will sink them all – we will not become the shame of the fleet.”  
“But sir, should we at least try to contact Moscow?” Officer Maslennikov, the political officer asked. 
“The radio is broken!” Captain said. Soft murmuring spread through the crew. “We have gone too deep. There is no time to waste. We need to launch the torpedo.”   
If we were to launch the nuclear torpedo, millions would die, including everyone on the ship. Maybe it would be worth it. We could protect our union; we could also destroy the world. There would be an unimaginable number of civilian deaths.  
I grumbled frustratedly as I recalled why we had encountered this obstacle. What does the depth charge even mean? If the US wanted to attack us, they would have already done so by dropping a larger bomb. They would not have used a non-lethal depth charge. At the same time, if the war had not begun, they would not have attacked us at all. So, the captain may be correct about the outbreak of war, but is it appropriate to launch a nuclear torpedo directly at Florida?  
Everyone stood there, pondering, while Captain paced impatiently. I thought of Olga and the picture of us by the beach. What would she want me to do? Would we ever get to go to the beach together again if we launched the torpedo? Looking at the confirmed facts, it’s most likely that the war has already begun.  
The U.S has hit us, and we would hit them back.  
“Shall we begin voting procedures? If the war has started, we should proceed as soon as possible,” I said.  
“Yes, I have decided,” Political officer Maslennikov replied.  
“Finally! You all should know what my answer is. We shall protect our union at all costs,” Captain proudly exclaimed 
“But won’t we all die if we launch the torpedo?” asked an innocent, soft voice from the crowd. I remembered I saw him the other day as I passed by a cabin. A young soldier, writing letters in his cabin. If I recall correctly, his name is Daniel.  
“Most likely,” Captain said boldly. “But we will drown as heroes. It would make our family and union proud, and it will save them from the Americans.”  
“What about our families? Our children?”  
“What if the war hasn’t started yet?”  
“What if it's not worth it?”  
A wave of chaos and panic washed over the crowd. No one wanted to die. I didn’t either.  
“There could be an alternative plan!” I shout 
The chatter subsided. Desperate faces turned in my direction, slightly pacified from fear.  
“Like what?” the same soldier replied. “We are almost out of fuel anyway.”   
“Maybe... Maybe we could escape the ship before the torpedo launches,” I explained.  
“But, wouldn’t someone need to control our ship for the launch process to work?” asked the confused soldier.  
“Of course,” I replied quickly, trying to avoid that question. “We can figure that out when the time comes.”  
“I can do it,” muttered Captain. Everyone turned towards him, concerned but also relieved. “I’ve got no one up there to go back to. And don’t deny it because I am the most competent submariner. If this ship sinks, I will go down with it.”  
“Are you sure, sir? You wouldn’t be able to make it back up. We have not even finished the voting process yet,” asked Maslennikov thoughtfully.  
“Yes. I am sure. Let us resume voting then. Maslennikov, do you wish to launch the torpedo?”  
Everyone held their breaths, waiting for the second vote.  
“Yes, sir. I find it most logical to launch it,” Maslennikov confirmed.  
Sounds of exhalation filled the ship. We are one vote away from either declaring a world nuclear war or saving the Soviet Union.  
“It's time for the last vote,” Maslennikov announced.  
Captain Savitsky walked ungainly towards me. He chose to be sacrificed, and I did not want to let him down. I gave him a grim smile as I finalized my decision.  
“It's all on you,” Captain said, as he wiped his forehead with his sleeve.  
“Because the U.S has directly attacked us...” I started. Each person stared at me intently. “We will not capitulate and turn around. We will make our union proud and launch the torpedo.”  
I heard clapping in the crowd which lead to a loud revelry.  
“Let's celebrate Captain Savitsky this afternoon!” someone in the crowd shouted. “We can make him the most delicious meal and fill him with drinks!”   
---------- ----------  
Up until noon, we stuffed ourselves with all our remaining foods as we prepared for the ascent. While the rest of the crew headed back to their cabins, I discovered there was a major issue. Our crew was comprised of 20 members, but we only had 10 oxygen tanks. Technically, there should have been sufficient oxygen, but it would be extremely difficult to share a tank under all the water pressure. How should I break this news to them? Many of the crew members are relatively young and on their first official deployment. Furthermore, the majority of them have never been trained to dive. For a while, I sat there, twirling my pen, trying to figure out a way to tell everyone. Maybe the captain would have some advice.  
Knock knock.  
For the next 20 minutes, I sat in Captain Savitsky’s cabin, briefing the plan with him. Surprisingly, he did not seem stressed when I explained the situation to him. We decided that there should be 9 pairs and each pair would share a tank between them.  
After we polished our plan, I asked him if he needed to send anything back up to the surface. Somehow, this made him more nervous and not the fact that we didn’t have enough oxygen tanks. So, I started to turn around to head back to my cabin.  
“Thank you, Arkhipov,” the captain said quietly, not lifting his eyes. “For taking care of the ship with me and helping with the plan...I still remember when you were just a young soldier, so proud to fight during World War 2. You would always smile at everyone and hope for the best. Now you are all grown up.” Captain gazed up proudly. 
“Of course, sir, it was an honor working with you,” I replied.  
For two hours, I laid back in my bed while the captain finished up his training with the other submariners. I turned to my side and looked at the picture next to me. I was finally going back to see Olga again, back to my normal life. That is only if I could make it back to the surface tomorrow, and I would try my best for her.  
---------- ---------- 
We all gathered in the main room while the clock ticked aggressively in the background, slicing the uncomfortable silence. No one dared to bother Captain Savitsky. Daniel stood behind me in line, shivering but also sweating.  
“Is everyone ready?” he confirmed as he walked out of his cabin.  
We all nodded nervously and repeated, “Yes, sir.”  
“Alright then, let's begin.”  
Captain did not sweat, fidget, or pace. He stared at the crew and down the hallway, towards the escape hatch. His eyes were surrounded by dark circles and his cheeks looked hollow, devoid of emotion.  
I wondered why he wanted to launch the torpedo, why he chose to die.  
We formed a line and made our way to the ship's bow, which housed the escape hatch. We were paired with the submariner next to us and my partner was Daniel. Two bold submariners offered to be the first to ascend, so they began churning the handle. I returned my gaze to Captain Savitsky, whose face was expressionless 
He already looked dead.  
“We will all miss you, sir,” I told him, as I tried to find an expression in his unreadable face.  
“Thank you, Arkhipov,” he replied. “Also, can you please take my will back to the surface? I trust you most with it.”  
“Of course, Captain. Is there anything else you need me to help you with?” I ask 
“It’s all right Arkhipov. I hope you make it back,” he replied 
“Thank you, sir. It truly was an honor working for you, and I wish we were not put in this situation. I will ensure everyone in the USSR navy acknowledges your heroic actions.”  
“Alright, goodbye Arkhipov.”  
“Thank you again, sir. Farewell.”  
Our gazes locked with each other. I was at a loss for words as I was not sure how to thank Captain enough and ensure he knew how much he is appreciated. So, I gave him a friendly smile and forced myself to turn around, only to see everyone else's sorrowful gaze. I heard his feet pound ponderously when he made his way back to the cockpit. 
The handle of the escape hatch clicked as it reached the end, so water began to seep in. We sealed the room and slid our goggles down. Slowly, the water level rose, and so did our anxiety.  
The next few minutes felt like hours. When we were nearly completely submerged, we all took a deep breath and swam out of the exit one by one.  
---------- ---------- 
The water immediately crushed my body. I attempted to preserve more air, but it was practically impossible. All I felt was pressure, pressure from the water, pressure from the life vest, and pressure to make it to the surface. I tried to make sense of my surroundings, but we were completely enveloped in darkness; nothing was visible. The escape hatch thudded at the bottom as the final submariners departed, producing ticklish bubbles that glided past me.  
Daniel nudged my shoulders, indicating that it was my turn to breathe. I shoved the mouthpiece into my mouth and pushed upwards with new energy from the oxygen. I then tapped him to gain his attention and handed him the mouthpiece.  
Things seemed to proceed smoothly as the water around us gradually brightened. The ocean resembled a mesmerizing watercolor painting. I would say it was beautiful, but nothing about this felt beautiful. There was a nuclear torpedo preparing to launch below us.  
A blinding streak of light penetrated the sea, illuminating us. We frantically kicked upwards, desperate to reach the surface. 
Unexpectedly, something heavy slammed against me. I struggled as I shoved whatever it was away. However, it was too late when I discovered that it was a submariner. He appeared to be unconscious as he continued to sink while carrying an oxygen tank. Trying to hold him was arduous; at this point, I could barely support myself. I tried to get a stronger grip by locking my fingers with his, but he slipped right through again. I desperately thrashed around in the water, but no one appeared to notice. I realized it was not only him when I looked around. Many were struggling, dropping like fat raindrops. Putting the mouthpiece back into my mouth, my lungs felt clogged with water. I took a deep breath and swam further up, finally catching a glimpse of the surface, while others sank to the bottom.  
Daniel and I continued to push upwards for what seemed like an eternity while passing the oxygen tank between us. We attempted to carry two drowning troops who still had a pulse, but the water pressure and additional weight would cause us all to drown. Setting them back in the ocean reminded me of my traumatic experiences during the Second World War and sent a sharp pain through me.  
After a few more dreadful minutes, we broke through the surface, immediately gasping for breath. Some others surfaced at the same time and cheered proudly with each other. But what they would realize soon was that there were only seven people on the surface. And the torpedo had not even been launched yet.   
A gush of salty sea water spilled across my face painfully clogging my nose and mouth. The water stung my nostrils, impeding my breathing. Fortunately, the soldier next to me noticed and he swiftly handed me our oxygen tank.  
Just breathe, I told myself.  I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. Things will be fine; we will keep swimming until we can spot the Soviet helicopter. One shouldn't be too far away. Finally calmer, I opened my eyes so that I could assist the other submariners and inform them about the plane.    
“NOO!” a soldier suddenly shouted, shattering the calmness in me.   
I twirled around the water with my hands, trying to figure out what was wrong. Strangely, my nose twitched in response to an acrid smell. When I turned to face a vomiting soldier, it made sense. We all swam around frantically, trying everything we could to keep him afloat. Many others were also struggling to stay afloat. Flapping their worn arms, kicking with their sore legs, trying their best to keep their head above the water. Although I was fatigued, my thoughts were as clear as day. So, I explained what we needed to do to find the helicopter, and everyone docilely followed my instructions.  
As we slowly made our way through the water, many got sick and vomited. The water that surrounded us encouraged thirst, a ravenous appetite, and the ascent caused some of our lungs to be dysfunctional. But those were not the only causes of the sickness. We were all still in shock at the submariners not being able to reach the surface and the consequences the nuclear torpedo launch would soon cause.  
With no clock, there was no other way for us to tell the passing time, except by looking at the sun. I lifted my head and saw a strange object blocking the sun, a... helicopter! There was a helicopter! Excited chatter spread through the few of us that were left. Desperately, we cautiously swam closer. Ensuring that it was the Soviet plane we knew about.  
After a long time of struggling in the water, we finally made it close enough for the writing on the plane to be legible.  
“It says USSR,” someone groaned with a raspy voice.  
None of us wasted time celebrating and used all the conserved energy left in our bodies to get the pilot’s attention. I felt a strong rumble but chose to ignore it because of how close we were to escape, but it grew more intense as time went by. We waved our arms, splashed as much water as we could, and shouted “HELP” as loud as possible.  
Beneath us, the rumble crescendoed.  
The torpedo. 
I turned back to the left and noticed a huge wave.  
It was a tsunami.  
“Hey everyone, look to your left” I shouted in terror 
They all paused the screaming and turned towards the tsunami. When they saw it, all the color drained from their faces. 
“We need to try harder before the wave reaches us,” one of the soldiers urged.  
We nodded collectively and started shouting and splashing, desperate for the plane to come. All of a sudden, the plane started to fly in our direction. We all screamed, but this time with joy. We will be saved.  
Everyone sighed as their stress left and relief took its place.  
A ladder started to swing down from the helicopter while the wave silently sped closer. When the ladder finally reached the water, all the submariners insisted that I climb first. I gladly lifted my arms and held on to the first bar, immediately feeling more stable than I had ever been. After each step, my body grows sorer but glad to finally be above water. Completely forgetting about the tsunami, I looked to my left, only to the wave five times taller than before and dangerously close to the plane. I hurried my steps and pushed upwards with all the strength I have. Below me the soldiers looked proud but desperate to go back home as Daniel followed closely behind me.  
I reached the ledge of the plane and more soldiers started up the ladder. Finally safe, I lay prostrate on the plane floor, thankful for the solid surface.  
“So, you all are submariners?” asked one of the people on the plane.  
“Yes, sir. Thank you for turning around for us,” I replied. “How is the war?”   
“What do you mean?” he asked. 
“The war. Our submarine was attacked due to the war. Did we miss anything? Our radio broke,” I explained   
He stared at me, completely confused 
“The war...there is no war,” he said, stuttering. 
“There must be some mistake. That is not possible.”   
Cold sweat dripped down my forehead, reminding me of Captain Savitsky, and the sacrifices he made for us.  
“No weapons were launched, so there is no war,” he explained  
No. This cannot be happening. I just voted to launch a nuclear torpedo and there was no war in the first place?  
“We are submarine B-59, that contained a nuclear torpedo,” I explained. “And because we were attacked by the Americans, we launched it. It caused the tsunami that is heading our way. Are you sure the war did not break out?”  
“Yes."  
I stood there, completely shocked. The war had never started but it just took three votes to do so. Three votes that probably destroyed Florida and killed Captain. Three votes that I could have made two. 
Why were we so stubborn?  
I would not fail them again. I thought, reaching down to help the other submariners. The wave roared as it crept even closer. We must hurry.  
Suddenly, a drop of water dripped onto my forehead. The water below created tall waves that pushed some soldiers further away from the plane. Although I could not hear them, their expressions were filled with dread, scared that they would not reach the ladder in time. Daniel climbed onto the plane, taking in heavy breaths as he lay on the floor, probably in shock. The colossal wave towered over us, casting a shadow on the plane and the soldiers below.  
The entire plane started shaking from the violent currents, while soldiers were starting to climb up the ladder at the same time. I thrust my arm down as low as I could to reach for the soldier that was almost at the ledge. From above, it looked like a swarm of ants climbing to honey. Grabbing onto a soldier's hand, I used all the energy I had to pull him up.  
No.  
Crash.  
It's too close.  
The waves hit the ladder and submerged a few soldiers at the bottom.  
“NOO!” many shouted as they reached down to save their friends, while all I could do was watch this tragedy happen from above. Like having the best spot at a play. But a lethal and tragic one.  
A few people started drifting away as the main wave raced closer.  
“GRAB ONTO THE LADDER!” I shouted. The hand holding the soldier started to get slippery as more water splashed onto my hand.  
Come on.  
You can do this.  
I threw my other hand down to pull the soldier back up but the current was too strong, the wave was getting too close.  
It was nature against a weak, hollow man.  
Daniel started to pull another submariner up and was succeeding more than I did. A huge wave smacked onto the ladder, which sent many soldiers further away from the plane.  
“NOO!” I shouted. “HANG TIGHT TO THE LADDER! IT WILL START REELING IN SOON.”  
More soldiers started up the ladder and seemed to be making progress. All of a sudden, the pilot started to turn the plane. 
“Wait, sir, there are still people in the water. We cannot just leave them,” I urged as the wave roared in the background. 
“I'm sorry. No one will make it if we don’t start moving. The waves will hit us too. Don’t they all have oxygen masks? Just tell them to stay under the wave,” the plane captain suggested.  
“Sir, they will not survive. The force below the surface is the same as above, maybe even worse because of the debris. We must save them,” I pleaded, wondering how I would be able to live with myself if all of them were gone.  
“Sorry comrade. There is just no other way,” he said quietly. “I can't risk flying down there when everyone else here is at risk too. I’m sorry.”   
His eyes were also filled with dread. I knew this was hard for him but we could not just leave them. I already had made too many mistakes. 
Below, they moved up and down, waving their hands, splashing the water, trying to get a response. Nothing they did would be able to save them, but I tried my best for the nearest soldiers.  
With a loud thud, the hand of the soldier I was holding slapped onto the ledge of the plane. I sighed loudly. At least I saved one person.  
 
Wooooshhhh  
 
“AHHHHH”  
 
The wave hit.  
  
My hand slipped.  
  
The soldier hurtled towards the wave and it sucked him in like a black hole. Next to me, Daniel held too tight to the man he was assisting and got thrown off the ledge along with the rest of my crew. They were gone in the blink of an eye.  
I sat on the ledge of the plane, looking at the water, with no human in sight. My lungs tightened, and my body felt denser. A drop of water slid down my cheek. I thought it was from the wave but it was just my tears. My irrational decisions caused this. Under my watch, the captain died, along with the entire crew. To make it worse, a global nuclear war had also begun. I rested my chin on my knee and closed my eyes, wanting to melt into a puddle. 
The co-pilot walked over and said, “Hey. Are you alright? At least you made it out alive.”   
But I didn’t feel like it, and nothing would ever make me. 

October 28th 1962 – Washington, D.C. 
“Sweets, would you get the door please? I’m making soup just now!” I heard momma yell. 
 “Of course, momma, I'll be right down!” I hollered back.  
The warm afternoon sun peeked through my blush pink curtains, giving my hair a glowy sheen. I ran the hairbrush through the shimmery surface and felt a sense of calmness course through my body. Who was at the door? Was it Daddy? Was he finally home? I stood up and smoothed out my brand-new pink and yellow dress. I quickly laced up my white saddle shoes, and trotted down the stairs.  
There was another rap on the door. I quickly flung it open, no longer able to hold my excitement. Daddy had been gone for weeks. And the only things I had of him were letters that had eventually stopped coming. 
  “Daddy! - oh. Who are you?” I asked. 
  It wasn’t daddy at the door. Instead, two men in fancy but ashen looking uniforms were at our front door. Where was daddy? Who are these men? I thought to myself. 
“Sweets, what is it? Who’s at the door-” Momma walked over as she wiped her hands on her apron, and paused when she saw the men. Her face grew pale, and her eyes widened. “Oh,” momma said in a hushed tone. “H-hello, to what do I owe the pleasure of having you gentlemen here?” she stammered.  
The men looked strangely uncomfortable as she said this. “Hello ma’am. Unfortunately, we are here to inform you that your husband has...”the taller man paused, sniffed then continued, “Yyour husband has passed away, just yesterday.”  
What? 
A hot numbness spread throughout my body, as if someone had lit me on fire. I couldn’t feel anything. I crumbled onto the floor, face frozen in disbelief. I was too scared to move, I felt like if I moved, it would confirm that this was real. Like it wasn’t just a bad dream. I heard momma gasp and she stumbled a little, putting her hand on her heart, bringing me back to reality. 
 “D-David? He’s...?” she said weakly. “But h-how? I thought the Soviets hadn’t launched the missiles yet!”  
Her eyes looked glassy, and her bottom lip trembled. The men looked nervous; the shorter one opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to have thought better of it.  
“Best just look out for the news,” he said finally, as he handed us a packet. The short man said, “We are so very sorry.” 
  “Ma’am,” the men said while tipping their hats slightly. 
Then he and his partner adjusted their hats again, and walked away from our front door. I took the packet and brought it into the kitchen, away from momma. I didn’t want her to see me cry.  
I walked away. Thinking about what had just happened, and what the men had said. My dad, the one who had always been there for me, was gone. I remembered the nights where we sat together on the swing on the porch, laughing and looking up at the sky while talking about our day. I remember him staying with me on Sunday, watching the Flintstones. I remember him coming to my science fairs, always saying how proud he was of my volcanoes.  
As I reached the top of the stairs, I entered my room, immediately reminded of what I had lost. Pictures of us together hung on the walls by a string. Letters from him were arranged neatly in my drawer. Still shaking slightly, I went to my wardrobe and brought out a shiny silver box with a pink ribbon wrapped around the lid. I put in his letters with the same gentleness as putting a baby to sleep. Then I took down the pictures of Daddy and I and placed them one by one in the box as well. He had gotten me this box to fill with treasured memories, so that I could look at them again. Little did he know all his pictures would be going in this box. Not only because of the fun memories we had, but because I knew we would never be able to make any more. I capped the box and set it down in my closet, for safekeeping. I climbed onto my bed, with my pink and yellow dress still on, and fell asleep while large wet tears streamed down my face. 
In my dreams, Daddy was still here with me. In my dreams, the war had never happened and everyone was safe, and could go back to their families. In my dreams, my world was still whole. 
 
After a few days, Momma had already started planning Daddy’s funeral. She had been asking for my help. I refused. Not because I didn’t want to help her, but because I didn’t really want to accept that my Dad was gone, forever.  
 
I awoke on Tuesday to the warm sunshine spilling across my face. Yet somehow, I still felt cold. I put on my slippers and slowly made my way downstairs. Momma had allowed Denise and I to miss school this week, so we stayed home. The delicious smell of carrot stew filled the dining room. As I made my way to the kitchen, I passed Denise at the television. She was watching her favorite television show, the one everyone was watching. The Flintstones.  
“Good morning, Denise,” I said, kissing her forehead as I walked past.  
“Morning Diane!” she sang back.  
We hadn’t told her the news about addy yet. She is only five and we didn’t want to upset her any further. As I grabbed a bowl of oatmeal, I heard Denise scream. 
 “Hey! Where did my cartoon go?” she exclaimed. 
 Momma and I made our way into the living area, we both froze when we saw who was on the television.  
“Denise, why don’t you go to your room honey,” Momma said softly.  
“NO, I DONT WANT TO! I WANT TO WATCH THE FLINTSTONES!” Denise cried.  
“Denise. Go to your room. Immediately please,” Momma warned stiffly.  
The way Momma had changed her tone startled me. But then, Momma grabbed the television remote, and sat down on the couch, and acted as if that never happened. She then looked up at me and gestured towards me, so that I would sit down.  
“Don’t worry Denise, the Flintstones will be back soon, I promise,” I reassured her, although I too was a bit confused as to why President Kennedy was on the television. 
“Good evening fellow citizens. Recently, our country has experienced a tremendous loss. Soviet Premier, Nikita Khrushchev, has recently attacked Florida with a nuclear torpedo shot from a Soviet submarine. Therefore, he has declared nuclear war upon us. Our military has already proceeded to DEFCON 2 so please do not be alarmed. We will continue broadcasting live so continue to heed further instructions....” President Kennedy said.  
We watched the broadcast for half an hour, but it seemed like days. Frozen in shock, momma sat on the couch, wide eyed and trembling. I put my hand around her, and she pulled me in for a hug. I could feel her tears soaking through my checkered dress, which was also brand new but I didn’t mind.  
A few moments later, we wiped our tears away and momma smiled at me. “It's going to be alright, Diane. Don’t you worry,” she said, softly.  
It was an odd statement. Why wouldn’t it be, ok? What was going on? What was DEFCON 2? And why was President Kennedy preparing for an attack?  
“Momma, why are we being attacked? Are we bad people?” 
“No, no Diane. It is the Soviets and the Cubans at fault here. Don’t you worry. America has done nothing but try to save Cuba. We are not at fault here,” momma said, her voice soft but seemingly stiffer than before. 
“But momma-” 
“Hush now Diane. You need not think of such things. Do not ever doubt America's actions. We are not the enemy here. Now quickly, run up to your room. I'm sure you have much to do,” Momma said, sternly. 
I didn’t think I had asked anything wrong. Why was Momma mad at me? 
In the evening, I had decided to start on my history homework. I flipped open the book, and after a few moments I stumbled across a peculiar sentence. “Life liberty and the pursuit of happiness. - Thomas Jefferson” what an odd sentence. Why would anyone pursue happiness? Why pursue it when you already have it? Before I could pursue that thought any further, I heard Momma call me downstairs, for dinner.  
After dinner, I was tracing my fingers along the wooden railing of our staircase as I made my way upstairs. That was when I heard it. The sound of a high-pitched whistle filled our house. Odd that someone would be playing soccer at this time of day; although I suppose the cool night air- 
“GET DOWN!” Momma hollered at me.  
With Denise under her arm, she lunged at me. I quickly glanced towards the window. A long grey tube shot across the sky making the same shrill shriek I heard earlier.  
CRASH 
“MOMMA WHAT WAS THAT?” I screamed. 
Pieces of pavement ruptured our window, and some pieces of wood broke off the window ledge. Momma wiped the tears off her cheeks, and didn’t respond. Instead, she quickly grabbed Denise and I, and led upstairs. 
“What's going on momma? Why is this happening momma?” Denise cried. 
Fat tears were pouring from her eyes, and snot was slightly visible on her red nose. My vision blurred. Tears were starting to form in my eyes too. I picked Denise up and cradled her as Momma brought Denise and me upstairs.  
“Go girls. Grab your most treasured things. Quickly, we haven’t got much time,” Momma directed. 
I grabbed my lovely new dolls, and was about to grab my hairbrush, but I grabbed my book instead. It will calm Denise down if I read to her. When I finished grabbing my dolls and books, I rushed downstairs, Momma holding my hand. All three of us ran into the large coat closet in the living area.  
“Quick girls, hide in there. Don’t come out until I tell you to,” Momma instructed, shaking. She looked back at us and then handed us a yellow stick from inside a drawer.  
“Momma, where are you going? Won't you stay with us?” I pleaded.  
“I'll be back soon girls. I've got to get some people off the streets first. Here take this flashlight. It'll be dark in the closet,” she said, hugging us tightly.  
I took the “flashlight”, and placed it carefully next to me. I couldn’t see Denises’ face in the darkness of the closet but I could feel her shaking. I pulled a large fluffy coat from one of the racks and wrapped it around us. Daddy’s old coat.  
I heard everything. The clamor of pots, pans, and silverware in the neighboring houses. The ear-splitting screams of neighbors, I had once delivered fresh baked cookies to. The crack of pavement as those things destroyed what was once a serene neighborhood into nothing but a pile of rubble. Denise started crying. Tears streaked down her face, just like the thick streaks of smoke those tubes left behind in the sky. 
“Diane,” Denise wailed shakily, “what are we going to do? What is happening? Oh Diane, please. Please make this stop!” Denise pleaded. 
She started shaking violently and I could hear her cries. I took out the flashlight and examined it. I pressed the large red button on its side. A large soft yellow beam shot out from a circle on the top. The flashlight was our only source of light, but it lit up the dim closet. I picked up one of my favorite books and decided to read it.  
“Denise, how would you like me to read to you?” I asked her. 
The sound of other crashes outside was deafening. Denise continued to huddle in a corner of the tiny coat closet. Her small hands were covering her ears to block out the loud crashes and screams outside. I gently pulled her hands down and she glanced at me with tears rimming her brown eyes. I opened my copy of Wrinkle in Time. I traced the beautiful blue cover with my fingers, opened it then started to read. After what felt like half an hour, I heard the clickity-clack of Mommas heels, followed by stomping from some boots. And the creaking of wood. Momma opened the closet door, and quickly sat down.  
“Momma, who were those people outside?” I asked, setting my book aside. 
“Those people are our neighbors. Linda and Paul. They have had their house bombed already. We are letting them stay at our house for protection, just as they would for us. Momma said gently.  
The thought of other people hiding in my room, and rummaging in my things threatened to enter my head but I pushed the thought out. How selfish of me to even think those things. I shut my book. Denise had already stopped crying. Although in the soft glow of the flashlight, I could tell that her eyes were still a bright, crimson red. Outside I could still hear the loud thuds and crashes, and I curled up into a ball. Hoping against all hope that if Daddy was up there in the sky, he would protect us from ending up there like Linda and Paul. The sound of the bombs was deafening. So, without anything else to do and without anywhere else to go, I took another jacket from the racks and used it as a blanket. And then I shut my eyes.  
It must have been half an hour later when I awoke from my restless nap. The smell of burning ash filled my lungs, and I opened my eyes. Momma and Denise were beside me. They looked as if they had been sleeping as well, but had smelt what I did and woke up. As if she suddenly thought of something, Momma jolted upright. She tried to move but it looked like her leg was stuck between the wooden panels. Wait. What? Why were the panels like that? I rubbed my eyes and peered through the cracks of the closet doors. Thick grey smoke filled the air, as well as my lungs. Thick grey smoke filled the air, as well as my lungs. I turned to face momma, and suddenly remembered that her legs were trapped under the panels.  
“MOMMA!” I yelled, tugging at the five scratchy wooden panels blocking her leg. “Momma, please, please get up...” as I tugged, I felt tears dripping from my eyes. “Momma please...” I whimpered.  
“Girls, let me go. They have bombed our house and it isn’t safe. Quickly, run to Ms. Kathleen’s next door. Stay safe, please go,” she coughed.  
“No Momma you gotta help us! We aren’t leaving you! Please, give us more time!” I cried. 
I couldn’t control it any longer. Tears were pouring out of my eyes and my hands felt prickly as a pulled at the panels. Momma was wheezing next to me and Denise was crying again, this time inconsolably. No matter, I was not in the position to console anyway. Moments later, another crash sounded near us, this time louder. Much, much louder. The smoke and fire were also more noticeable now. In the crowded closet, the air was becoming unbreathable.  
“Momma...I'm sorry.”  
In the last moments before the darkness took me, I remembered one thing. I was still wearing my pink and yellow dress. The same pink and yellow dress that had been the most important thing on my mind just a couple of days ago. The same pink and yellow dress that was now covered in ash and rubble. The same pink and yellow dress that I would have valued much more than some tools to lift the wooden panels off momma a couple of days ago. Time is a funny thing. How one event, and just a couple of days could change how you see the world. Eventually, we met our end as a family does. Together.  

November 3rd, 1962 - Havanna Cuba 
8:00 PM 
I lay in bed and feel the cool breeze sweep across my face. It smells fresh like the cool autumn air that I love to breathe in whenever I go outside and play with Sofía and Odella. My eyelids start getting heavy as I slowly drift off to sleep, my chest rising and falling as I listen to the occasional hoot coming from an owl.  
I remember the last time I went to school was about a week ago, the principal came inside of our classroom while profa Delgado was teaching everyone how to graph an inverse relationship; something I was taught a long time ago.  
He came in wearing a brownish greyish suit and a terribly worried look on his face. The principal asked profa Delgado to come over to the door before he whispered into her ear. He must’ve just given her some terrible news because her face turned as pale as a sheet and her eyes grew wide. Profa Delgado was then given a pat on the back by the principal before she returned to the front of the class. She told us that we had to get our backpacks and line up as a class in front of the school like we did every day at 7:30 pm. Except, this time it was only 5:38 pm.  
Léon’s hand shot up once profa Delgado had finished talking and asked why we were leaving so early. She said that señor Fidel Castro had very urgent matters to attend to and it would be best if we went home earlier.  
When our class stepped into the hallway, I caught a glimpse of other teachers and their students. All of them seemed to have the same look of worry that profa Delgado had on her face. Everything was so panicked and chaotic. 
Because Mamá is one of the math teachers at my school, I waited for her to come and find me at the gate so we could walk home together like we always did. Papá and Mamá had 2 cars in total but we didn’t drive any of them to school because it only took 7 minutes to walk.   
While we were walking back home, I saw many people on the streets who shared the same looks as profa Delgado and the other teachers at the school. I asked Mamá why people looked so sad and worried today and she just told me the same thing as profa Delgado, that señor Fidel Castro had very urgent matters to attend to and it would be best if we went home earlier. Except this wasn’t good enough of an answer for me so I asked her what urgent matters there were? Mamá then said that it was something that involved America but we had no need to be scared because we had papá and Elian and señor Castro. Except, I was a little bit scared. Mamá always told me to be as brave as possible because being brave was one of the best things a lady could be. So, I tried to keep myself from over thinking about the dangerous land of America.  
That night when we got home, Mamá and Elian sat down in the living room to watch the television. Although I was supposed to be doing homework upstairs, I came down mid-study session to get a snack and I overheard some things on the television.   
Señor Castro was saying that America needed to be stopped and that we mustn’t worry about our safety because the Cuban army was going to use all the might they had so that they could fight off the Americans. He stood behind a podium wearing his olive-green uniform as he read from a piece of paper.  
“I call upon him further to abandon this course of world domination and to join in an historic effort to end the perilous arms race and transform the history of man. He has an opportunity now to move the world back from the abyss of destruction -- by returning to his government’s own words that it has no need to station missiles outside its own territory, and withdrawing these weapons from Cuba – by refraining from any action which will widen or deepen the present crisis – and then by participating in a search for peaceful and permanent solutions.” As señor Castro read, his voice was full of anger and urgency.  
“THIS IS WHAT THE AMERICANS THINK OF US!” he yelled. “THAT WE ARE A BUNCH OF WORLD DOMINISTS LOOKING TO DESTROY THE HISTORY OF MANKIND.” ‘Boos’ erupted from the crowd as he continued with his speech. “Are we going to tell them what we should and shouldn’t do?”  
“NOOOOO!” the crowd screamed.  
“Exactly!” señor Castro eagerly said. “We are Cuban!” 
The crowd cheered.  
“We are strong!” 
The crowd cheered. 
“We don’t back down from a challenge!” 
The crowd cheered. 
“We have these missiles in place to protect ourselves and if you see that as a threat, then it shall be a threat.” Señor Castro yelled as he adjusted the mic on the podium 
The crowd cheered. 
“Thankfully, the Soviet b-59 submarine has already struck a torpedo marking the start of this war. America will pay!” His face stayed the same as he took in the applause coming from the audience. 
“Viva la revolución!” Castro yelled as he rolled his r’s as he punched his fist into the air. 
I didn’t understand what was going on, and I still don’t. Why was he yelling? What was the mention of America about? What submarine? 
As I roll around to face the window, I look out and see the moon. Its dreamy glow shines a spotlight on the floor of my room. I realize how crazy it is that even though there are urgent matters that need to be attended to, the streets of Havana have never seemed more peaceful.  
Just as I am about to fall asleep, I’m awoken by a loud sob erupting from downstairs. Interested, I slowly get out of bed quietly so as not to wake up my sleeping brother next door, and creep down the stairs. As I make my way down, my hand slides against the smooth and rich oak banister. I crouch down behind the railing in order to avoid being seen by Mamá. She always tells me that if I am not invited to participate in a conversation, I shouldn’t be listening. But this time, I have to listen.  
Standing in the frame of our door are 2 men dressed in the same olive-green uniform and cap. One even seems to be just a little older than Elian. 18 maybe? They both have stern looks on their faces but also a hint of pity. I see Mamá standing by the door holding it open with one arm her neatly made hair and white dress blown in the wind, she’s crying too. Her whole body trembles. A wave of sadness washes over me as her cries become louder.  
“No. Don’t lie to me,” Mamá yells, “this can’t be!” She continues, “My Raul is so strong, he must still be buried in the rubble waiting for you to rescue him!” 
Rubble? Where did that come from? 
“I’m sorry señora but we have looked everywhere for your husband,” the young soldier says, his voice serious. 
“Including the rubble?” Mamá asks, her voice sounding so weak that if you dropped it, it would shatter into a million pieces.  
 “Including the rubble,” the other soldier says. 
 “We’ve been digging for days and your husband’s whereabouts are still unknown. Even if he had survived the bombing, he could’ve suffered a terrible fracture, broken limb, or dehydration. I’m sorry to say this again but your husband is-”  
“Don’t,” Mamá cuts the soldier off. “I want none of this nonsense.” Her voice was stern but now it's slowly shaking along with her whole body.  
What? 
What happened to papá? 
Could he be... 
No. I mustn't think such foolish thoughts. Mamá would disapprove.  
“Now, it would be best if you could go,”Mamá says as she takes a shaky breath and stretches out her fingers and curls them into fists. She shuts the door and it closes with a bang before walking over to the couch and sitting down with her elbows on her knees. I can see the makeup running down her face as she takes a couple of shallow breaths. She then hides her face in the palms of her hands and starts trembling and crying uncontrollably.  
As I walk up the stairs, a sharp pain stabs my heart as I walk up the stairs and a thousand thoughts scatter my brain, all of which are about papá. Why are the soldiers lying to her? Mamá is never wrong and yet the soldiers corrected her when she said that papá was still alive. So, was he dead? There's no way. If there was someone that was going to live forever it would have to be papá. He was the strongest man in the world. 
I lie in my bed in my room and I can still hear my mamá crying downstairs. After some time, I can hear Elian opening his door and hurrying downstairs to comfort Mamá. The cries die down and eventually, all I can hear is the hooting of the owl.  
5:00 AM 
I awoke with confusion as a loud whistle screeched through the air. I snap my eyes open and instantly shoot up in bed. Something outside crashes down and flames of red and orange erupt outside as the house shakes. Glass shatters and the musty scent of smoke fills my lungs. The lights go out, I scream, jump out of bed, and run over to my door, all while yelling for Mamá and Elian. 
My hand fiercely grasps the doorknob and I try to pull open my door, but nothing works. Broken shards of glass lay scattered on the floor of my bedroom. The exact place where the moon was shining its beautiful rays of light just last night. 
I pull and I pull but the door won't budge, I can hear Elian banging on my door yelling my name. “Riza! Riza! Are you okay?!” he screams. 
“ELIAN! ELIAN! I CAN’T! THE DOOR WON’T OPEN!” I shouted. “HELP ELIAN. Help me please.” At first, I strain my voice before it dies down merely to a whisper. I’m so scared, I don’t know what will happen. It smells like smoke and all my beautiful room is now destroyed.  
Before she died, my abuelita got me a beautiful doll from the market. It had dark skin just like me and a headscarf wrapped around its head just like abuelita. Its dress was made of the prettiest fabric that was hand sewn together by the lovely señors and señoritas that worked at the market. I quickly take a peek behind my shoulder and I see what looks like papá’s stories of America.  
The iconic colorful houses of Havana that once stood tall, proud to belong to such a city, now lay in ruins, as if their backs were hunched over. My eyes fill with tears and I am sure that with just one blink, they would all come gushing down.  
My head snaps back at the sound of Elian giving me instructions. “Riza, Riza. Can you hear me?” Elian shouts.  
“Yes, I can hear you Elian,” I speak. 
“Ok, I want you to go to the wall that is away from the window but also away from the door. Can you do that for me?” Elian reassures. 
“Where’s Mamá?” I cry. “I want Mamá.” 
“Riza, your Mamá is right here,” a soft voice reassures me. It can only belong to Mamá. “I want you to calm down and listen to your brother and I, okay? We're going to get you out of here.” 
“Riza, grab a cloth and use it to cover your nose and mouth. Then, go over to the wall that is away from the window and the door? Can you do that for me?” Elian asks. 
“Yes, I think I can,” I squeak. 
Elian responds with, “Good, now when you are in the safe position, you have to tell me okay?”  
“Okay Elian, I’m there,” I say and my voice breaks. Tears spill down my face as Elian and Mamá break open my door with a big metal pole. They must’ve gotten it from the banister on the staircase. Oh, how a loved that banister so much.  
I hold the cloth close to my nose and mouth as I cry. A cloud of dust appears at my door and eventually, Elian and Mamá can make a hole just big enough for me to crawl out of my door.  
“Be careful Riza, there are still sharp parts of wood sticking out from the door that could hurt you,” Elian warns 
I make my way through the dust and smoke encircling the air and now I know why Elian made me cover my mouth and nose. Just opening my eyes hurts because of the dust and I’m sure if I didn’t have the cloth, I would’ve choked or suffocated by now.  
“Oh my god, I cannot believe we almost lost you,” Mamá says dropping her end of the pole and pulling me into a hug. I can tell she is crying because I hear her sniffles and that makes me want to cry too. 
“Are you okay Riza?” Elian asks me with relief clear in his voice. I nod my head even though I'm not okay. I'm really scared.  
“What happened in there? What was the loud noise?” I question as I wipe away my tears. 
“No time to explain, we should probably get going in case something else hits the house,” Mamá directs.  
“My friend Sergio told me there’s a shelter not too far from here,” Elian tells us. “Mamá, you take Riza outside and I will go and find any food or clothing that can be scavenged.”  
“No Elian, it is too dangerous, you must come with us. The house could cave in or another missile could hit,” Mamá says.  
Missile? What’s a missile? Is that like America? 
“Now that papá is gone, I have to be the man of the house and it is my duty to protect my family,” Elian says confidently. Mamá tries to cover my ears but it is too late. My heart drops.  
“What?” I stutter. “Papá is gone?” I say, my voice is merely a whisper. 
Mamá holds me closer and tells me that she will explain it all to me later. She walks over to Elian and plants a kiss on his forehead. “I love you my Elian, please be careful.” she breathes. 
“I love you Mamá,” Elian reassures her.  
She wraps her arm around my shoulder and I cling to her white nightgown as we walk through the dark and out the front door with the cool silk scrunched up in my palms.  
As we get closer to the open door, it gets a bit lighter. I have no idea what time it was but it was very early in the morning when the missile hit our home. The bleak morning light shines on Mamá in her nightgown, I can see that the nightgown is now a dull shade of grey and it has a large tear on it. 
 Growing up, whenever I got scared about a nightmare I might’ve been having, I always went to sleep with Mamá and papá. As I slept, I would breathe in the scent of Mamá’s rose powder and cling to her dress for comfort. But since I am a big girl now, I no longer sleep Mamá and papá. But I have always found Mamá’s dress to be a sort of outlet for me. If I ever got scared, I just had to hold on to Mamá. 
As we take a step outside, I get a glimpse of just how terrible the situation is. At first, I am hit with the stench of burning flesh and smoke. I see that people’s clothes are torn up and covered in blood. Tears run down their dirt-stained faces as my eyes scan their burnt arms and legs. I guess our family was lucky enough to have been sleeping and covered by our blankets when the missiles hit.  
I don’t think too many people have died, but, in the corner of my eye, I can see señora Carillo holding her baby while crying. 
Mamá follows my eyes to Mrs. Carillo and she quickly grabs me by the shoulders and turns me to face the other way. Although, this does nothing because I am just surrounded by the remains of America’s evil doing. All I can see is rubble, scared faces, rubble, bloody wounds, rubble, dust, and rubble. Suddenly I felt overwhelmed by the taste of blood only to realize that I had been biting my tongue so hard it started bleeding. Then, the taste of blood mixed with the scent of smoke and skin, and the sight of even more blood, makes me spill out the contents of my stomach. 
As I puke, Mamá pats my back and whispers to me, “I’m so sorry.” 
 
6:00 PM 
It's been 3 weeks since the missile hit our home.  
3 weeks of people starving, longing for just a drop of water, and a place to sleep other than the stiff and cold streets of Havana.  
3 weeks of Mamá not taking care of us.  
3 weeks of missing papá. 
Since then, I've seen so many scary things that I never thought I would see them again. The last time everything was so bad was when I was younger. This was before señor Castro helped us, to become the strong country that we are now. This was before everyone could have enough clothes to prevent them from freezing to sleep in a place that would keep them warm and prevent their backs from hurting when they woke up. Before people had enough food to eat so that their bones wouldn’t be sticking out of their skin.  
Every time I went outside to pick flowers or play with my dolls, I would always see skinny people. They looked so desperate for food and shelter, their faces a sick shade pale grey. Eyes pleaded saying, “Help us, please.”  
But I always got too scared and ran inside. 
Although that was 3 years ago. 
Now, I am one of the skinny people. I live the life that I was once scared of.  
Every day, I see people fighting for every last crumb of bread and every last drop of water. It’s really scary, the things people will do to survive.  
Yesterday, I saw a mother slap her sister because she had taken food from her children’s hands. The mother ended up choking her sister. I cried while Elian held me close.  
Before I was a little bit mad at Elian for going back into the house to get food and supplies because Mamá was right, the house could cave in any second. But like papá, Elian is very strong.  
Although, I wish Mamá could be a bit stronger. Ever since the first few days of the war, she has stopped talking to us. She kept to herself and always had Elian do the work. If there was water that needed to be pitched, it was always Elian that would get it. If I got hurt, it was always Elian who took care of me. I think that when papá left, he took Mamá with him.  
Mamá just sort of abandoned us and never came back.  
When Elian came back from the house, he got as much food as he could carry and 4 big jugs of water. 1 for Mamá to carry, 1 for me to carry, and 2 for him to carry. Elian also brought out the blanket from my room and 2 pillows. Mamá and I share the blanket while Elian sleeps cold. Mamá and I both have pillows so Elian sleeps without one. He also salvaged Mamá’s wallet and the safe, that way we had money. But every last corner of Havana has been bombed, there is no use for money. No shops where we can buy food, no hotels where we can sleep. But we did eventually find a half-bombed building that used to be an office building and we have been sleeping there ever since. There are many other families sleeping at the campsite.  
Still, we keep our money safe. Tucked away beneath our blanket, held close to our chests. 
Although Elian was able to get food, there wasn’t a lot of it. He was able to get a half bag of flour, 1 loaf of bread, 2 bananas, and 19 empanadas that señora Mendoza had brought to us the night before. By that time, we had already finished our dinner and Elian and I were both too full to eat, so Mamá just put them in the fridge. Thank goodness she did.  
Elian taught us to ration, which I now know means to have a fixed amount of food per week. He had gone to work with papá many times before so he knew what he was doing. Elian told us that he and Mamá would eat once every 2 days while I would eat once every day. Each time, we could only have half a slice of bread or half a banana. Elian would take the flour and some water from a pump that was found near our shelter so that he could make chewy flour balls. Old me would’ve left them on my plate but now, you make use of anything edible you can find, and the flour balls did satisfy my hunger for a while. We are so good at rationing that we still have some flour and empanadas left.  
At school if I didn’t have enough food for lunch, I would always complain to Sofía and Odella about how I have never been hungrier in my life. But I didn’t know hunger. None of us did. 
I wonder where Sofía and Odella are right now. I hope they're safe. 
As I walk up to the line for the water pump, I take a deep breath inhaling the polluted air. By now, I have gotten used to the smell of ash, dust, smoke, and burnt flesh. It has been 2 days and no bombs or missiles were dropped on Havana. It seems that the Cuban army is winning and our country may be safe once again.  
When I have finished collecting the water for 2 jugs, I try and carry both of them but struggle. Elian notices me and runs over to come and help with the water.  
“How are you today.” Elian questions with a smile. He asks me this every day and I usually respond with a grunt or “okay” even though I haven’t been okay in a long time. But today I told him that I feel good. It isn’t very enthusiastic or anything but I mean what I say. For the first time in days, there’s sun. There aren’t any pretty flowers, or green grass but I feel happier than I have in a really long time.  
We walked back to our campsite in comfortable silence. Suddenly, the air raid sirens start going off and my blood goes cold.  
Just as I am thinking about how great everything is, it all comes crashing down.  
“Riza, drop the water.” Elian commands. We both let go of our precious water and bolt for Mamá. She is on the other side of the park in the abandoned office building where we have been sleeping for a long time. 
As the sirens get louder, planes start shelling the area with bullets. “GET DOWN!” Elian yells. I drop down on my stomach with my hands over my head and I feel Elian land on top of me. Chaos ensues as the loud sound of bullets raining down over Havana drowns out the screams of the terrified.  
I hate that in the history of humankind, we have always fought against each other. I learned in school about Nazi Germany and what they did to Jewish people. I think that it is absolutely horrific what they did. At that time, we were taught that America was the good guy because they were on the same side as the Soviet Union. But then once señor Castro took power in Cuba, we were told that America wasn’t good anymore. It’s all a little bit confusing to be honest. 
I pray to God that Elian, Mamá and I will be able to make it out of this war alive. 
After the shelling has died down, Elian gets off of me and pulls me up with his hand.  
“Are you okay?” he asks as I get pulled into a hug. 
“Yes.” I reply. 
I remember in the beginning of the war, every time we were shelled, bombed, or attacked with missiles, I would always cry. I would cling to Mamá but she wouldn’t do anything. No comforting words, no hugs. The loud noises scared me and the thought of losing my life terrified me.  
But after the first week and a half of the war, I stopped crying. It wasn’t that the missiles or bombs didn’t scare me. They did. But it was because I felt like I had already cried all my tears away. I felt that I had no energy left inside of me that could be used for screaming or crying. Whenever they came, I just dropped down to the floor with my hands covering my head like Elian tells me to.  
Elian and I walk back to the old office building where Mamá sits. Her face wears the same blank expression that has plastered her face for the last 3 weeks since papá died.  
“Mamá, are you okay?” I ask trying to get something get anything of Mamá just to let me know that she is feeling okay. 
“Mamá?” Elian says. “Riza was talking to you.” he tells her. 
She snaps her head up to look at me and she stays there, staring at my face before she starts crying. Tears stream down her face and she holds her face in her hands.  
I want to comfort her but Elian tells me that it is best to leave her alone right now.  
Tonight, I am curled up against Mamá, she holds me in her sleep, the cool material of the sleeves of her nightgown are draped over my torso. They soothe the burns I got when I dove to the ground in order to protect myself from all of the bullets raining down on me.  
The office building that we have found shelter in still has some of its second floor intact, providing a nice roof for most of the shelter. Except, there are some holes in the second floor that give a beautiful view of the night sky and there is one above where I sleep. Although, since the war started, I haven’t seen a single star and the moon was not always visible since it is always lost in the smoke coming from the burning remains of this city.  
But today, I look up in the sky and I see the most beautiful set of moon and stars. The stars are sprinkled throughout the deep blue sea of night sky and the moon stands out amongst all of them, shining so bright almost telling me that everything will be okay.  
When I close my eyes and hear a sound that I thought I would never hear again, the quiet yet reassuring hoot of an owl. 
3:00 AM 
I wake up to the sound of explosions. I reckon that I haven’t slept for very long because the sky above is still very dark.  
“Riza, grab your pillow and get under your-” Elian shouts but is cut off when he looks through the hole in the ceiling to find a bomb falling right towards our shelter. 
Instantly my heart stops and my blood go cold. I’ve never been this close to dying. 
In fact, I am so in shock that I don’t even realize Elian and even Mamá shouting for me to run. 
BOOM 
The next thing I know, a huge explosion happens before me and a cloud of red and orange flashes before my eyes. Just like the first time a missile hit our home.  
Then, a shroud of dark ashy smoke and dust covers the entire landscape and it hurts to open my eyes. A waft of burnt flesh fills my nostrils as I try to get up from the ground. Except, I feel as though something is crushing my entire body. 
“RIZA! RIZA!” I can hear Mamá shout. “RIZA WHERE ARE YOU?” 
I open my mouth but instead find myself choking on something. My free hand goes to my throat and there is a large piece of cement draped over my entire body. Its sharp granite edges scrape into my vocal cords as I try my best to take a deep breath and continue to gasp for air. The pressure of the cement slab on my body is too much and I can feel all of my bones being crushed under its weight.  
“Riza? RIZA! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP!” I can hear the terrified screams of my family. I open my mouth and gasp for air but nothing is going in and nothing is going out.  
Mamá crouches down beside me and instead of saying anything, starts crying. Sweat trickles down her forehead as her cries become more muffled by the screaming filling the air. My heart sinks realizing that my own Mamá doesn’t even have enough strength left inside to save her own daughter.  
Suddenly, I feel my head becoming lighter, like I can’t really tell what is going on anymore. I feel dizzy.  
Slowly, I fall into the most wonderful dream. I feel as though I'm slowly being carried away from this cruel world. Into a place with no hunger, no war, no violence, no broken families, just peace.