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THE FUTURE, by Kamilla Kasimova (11 y.o.)

A lot had changed since the 20th century for this is three hundred years after it...


In between skyscrapers that clawed at the wan moon, a block of flats stood dully showing how inferior they were to neighbouring buildings; a small girl sat perched on the window sill carefully watching cars soar through the polluted air on the arid highway and then observed the other vehicles below her, that crawled along the ground.


The humble girl was named “Merissa”, heir of two ridiculously affluent parents who were dealing with grave war business and at the time she was sent away to be taken care of.


Clatter, clatter! A shrill voice rang up the stairs and the next second a stout lady burst through the door.


“Merissa! Merissa, here's a drone – it just came for you,” she said stumbling in the doorway, “Oh my sweet child I'm sorry...”


Hesitantly, Merissa glanced around the room and read the voice mail which the drone had brought. Her parents were dead- as dead as doornails. She was to be sent to orphanage that very hour.


Suddenly everything seemed very dull and matte to her for she no longer had a purpose to live. That spark living inside every human had died inside her; she was a wound-up toy that finally ceased to move.


Zoom! There were bombs outside driving into the gist of the city like into a beast's heart. Dropping bombs like arsenic on the way. Without warning, Merissa threw herself out of the window and let herself plummet down imagining she was a bomb herself making chaos everywhere she went and with a cumbersome burden she fell down-down-down...


A few weeks later, her eyes fluttered open once more and she was greeted by a woman whose kind eyes sparkled with enchantment.


“Hello there, Merissa!” she sang with a voice that seemed to be drizzled with honey. “I'll be taking care of you from now on- I've adopted you”.


Merissa was told of her new home where there were emerald trees and crystalline, glistening brook. She had never seen the rare beauties of nature before but soon did and lived with Mrs. Goodal (the woman) and her beloved, happily for a long time.


But war can reach you anywhere.

No matter how hard you try to hide.





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1 Comment

...Very neat handwriting. And very interesting message. If I could speak to the author I would say: if you hide you will always be hiding, and indeed the thing you are hiding from will always find you. Anywhere. Unless you set yourself a totally unrelated and deeply inspiring goal in pursuit of which you will fulfil yourself and uplift others. Maybe at the age of eleven it is too early to talk about this. Maybe not.

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