Inkling_2026_Digital - Flipbook - Page 8
the window, scanning the ground, hoping
not to see him.
I did. He hadn’t moved.
Breathing suddenly became di昀케cult; tight
and shallow. Gun昀椀re tore into the wall
behind me, bullets punching through the
ceiling. I barely noticed.
Because I wasn’t alone.
A body lay a few feet from me, at 昀椀rst I
thought him to be dead, taken out by a
fatal wave of gun昀椀re.
But then his chest moved. His dark green
uniform hung loose, helmet at his side. A
pistol rested gently on his lap, the barrel
aimed directly at me, his 昀椀nger near the
trigger.
And that was when I realized who it was.
The boy from before.
We stared at each other. Waiting.
Suddenly, something that he had clutched
in his hand slipped out, falling towards the
ground, drifting towards me like a feather.
A photograph.
In it was a family. An older woman with
greying hair; a man with a trimmed beard
and a worn, leather cap; a young girl with
strawberry blonde hair, clutching a stu昀昀ed
bear.
I peered up at him, gesturing to the
photograph.
“I have one too.” I said, struggling to 昀椀nd
the words. “Back home.”
My voice shook, heart pounding, lungs
tight. He held my gaze then slowly reached
for the picture.
“I am not going to kill you,” he said. “Never
8 | INKLING 2026
had it in me, even with everything they say
about you.” He let his pistol fall from his
hand.
About us? I thought to myself, what kind of
senseless propaganda are they being fed?
But it hit me too, that maybe— just maybe,
we were pawns in this all, disposable,
replaceable. And that we were simply
numbers, 昀椀ghting someone else’s war.
My mind was clouded, I didn’t recognize the
familiar voice of my commanding o昀케cer
just outside the door. Nor did I notice the
metal creak and clang of the door. And
neither did the boy, he just stared at the
photograph, eyes glazed over.
Then—a metallic clank hit the 昀氀oor.
The grenade rolled across the 昀氀oor, coming
to a halt in the space that separated us.
He didn’t even notice, his eyes glued to the
printed snapshot of his family.
And before either of us could move, a wave
of scorching heat washed over me.
And then—darkness.
We lie there now, two soldiers, side-by-side.
Two enemies in their 昀椀nal resting place. So
close, yet so far.
Snow begins to fall. Slowly, it blankets us,
erasing the colours that once divided us.
Our uniforms fading to white.
And we remain there. Not as enemies. But
as proof. Proof that humanity is not found
in the 昀氀ags we 昀氀y, but the times where we
are one, in the moments between gun昀椀re.
Colton is the 1st place
winner in the Short Story
category for this year’s Teen
Writing Contest.
