I had just turned twenty-one, but I still felt like I was sixteen. I was in my room, writing in my journal about the war when my father pounded on my door. He said, “Joey, you better get out!” so I made my way towards the door. The moment I opened it Father began to strangle me.

In panic, I threw a punch at his shoulder, but Father held me, nevertheless. I felt heat rushing to my face as I choked out, “What the hell are you doing?!” He let go and slapped me hard. I felt the pain, but I made no noise.

“Where is it?!” He screamed, his gray eyes flaring. “Answer me, boy! WHERE? IS? MY? GUN?!” Father shook me wildly and with each sharp spat of his words, he smashed me against the wall. “I know you took it, boy, answer me! Where is it?!” He continued to shake me and smash me against the wall.

Pain sparked in my head and back, but I kept silent. I ignored the flashes of red and white in front of me. I took it. I won’t dare tell him the truth. Instead, I fibbed, “What gun?” which caused Father to roar and strangle me once more.

“You know what I mean!” Father screamed before releasing me and punching me in my jaw. My jaw gave a sick crack and blood filled my mouth, but I didn’t dare make any noise of pain.

Father made a disgusted noise before whirling around, stalking away. I hovered near my bedroom door before dogging after his steps, knowing that he would want me to follow him. I made sure that I was a good distance from him to avoid being hit. Father paused and I caught myself just in time to prevent myself from running into him. He faced me and grabbed my wrist, dragging me into a room. It was the master bedroom and Father threw me on the bed, pointing to the tall, glass cabinet that was in the corner of the room. “My gun?" He had an expected look etched on his face. He scowled at me when I shrugged.

“You know how to play me, don’t you, boy?” Father growled as he stalked towards me. He said, “You thought taking my prized gun would not make me angry? Or you knew? I know you knew that this was going to make me angry, I know. What was the purpose, huh?" Father shook his head as he struck me again. “My gun, boy, my gun that I had for years! It has been around for three goddamn generations!” He shook with ire. “And it was—is—going to be given to my next child, which is Jesse!” Father spat furiously.

I held my breath before saying softly, “Do you not know what happened to Jesse?” I tilted my chin up, glaring at him. He had no clue. Of course not. Which was why he blamed me on everything. But the gun, yeah. I took that.

“What do you mean, ‘what happened to Jesse’?" Father asked curiously. His gray eyes narrowed as I bit my lower lip, trying to avoid his steely gaze.

“He ran off to the war, Father,” I told him. “He has all the rights to. He is, after all, twenty-seven.” I pointed out. This caused him to slap me. I continued in a shaky voice, “You’re going to lose everyone you have if you keep on hitting her just like how you lost Jesse," I whispered. I got up from the bed and ran out, cringing when my father yelled insults at me.

“You can’t fight me, boy!” Father yelled.

“I wish you were dead!” I hollered and deep inside, I felt bad for meaning it. Father spewed out more insults, but I covered my ears as I ran outside the house, tuning out my mother’s startled cries. It was pouring outside and from a distance, I could hear bombs bursting and distant screaming. I ran almost blindly through the stabbing rain and used my arms as shields, bolting towards the woods. I stopped near a blossom tree and by the base, it had my father’s gun. Exactly where I placed it yesterday.

“Hands up!” A rough voice barked behind me, and I dropped the gun out of surprise.

I picked the gun up and whipped around, aiming the gun at the person, snarling, “I think not!” But despite trying to act fierce, my voice shook. When I saw the person, I was shocked to see the General here. He had a smirk on his lips as he gestured to a man behind him.

“You seem able-bodied," the General said to me. "This is Blackwood. He is my Commander. Want to join the army to stop this war? Fight the bad guys?” the General raised his eyebrows at me, grinning slyly. “Oh, and I’m General Greenway, in case you didn’t know,” he winked.

Commander Blackwood held a finger up, interrupting, “General, sir,” he began, "it depends if he is qualified to do so. He must be previously trained. And, he has to be at least twenty-four.” Commander Blackwood added, a smug look crossing his face. He ran a hand through his black hair as his dark eyes narrowed.

The General laughed. “Nonsense,” he said. “He doesn’t need to be trained. Was Symon? Was Talyor? Was Lunder? Oh, no. What’s your name, kid?” questioned the General, his eyes questioning.

“Joey Byariars, sir,” I muttered breathlessly. I aimed the gun at the ground instead. “Uh, my father is Mark Byariars, sir. You might know him. He’s in the army, or uh. Was." I chuckled nervously.

Commander Blackwood scowled, his dark eyes a flurry. “He’s not working for us, General. He can’t hold a gun properly!” He grumbled. “He looks under twenty-four, sir.”

“How old are you, boy?" the General asked, a suspicious look flickering across his face.

I don’t know what was with me. I lied again, but in front of the General and Commander. “I'm twenty-four. Just turned, sirs,” I grinned warily. It was clear that Commander Blackwood didn’t trust me, but the General laughed it off.

“Oh, I like this kid. Why don’t I lead you to our camp?” the General said, wrapping his arm over my shoulders. He led me away from my house and I stuttered out, “Wait! Can’t I say goodbye to my mom at least?” I asked him, pulling away from him.

The two men paused before the General gave me a short nod of his approval. I ran back to the house, dropping the gun by the door. I raced inside and hugged my mom who cried, “Oh! Joey, what is...?" and she began to cry. She knew. “I don’t want both of you dead! Ever since Jesse left half a year ago...oh! Your father found out...did you tell him?” She shook her head, tugging on her blonde curls. “Doesn't matter. Just...be careful. Come back immediately if it gets worse. Try to find your brother, too." My mom’s blue eyes were raw with pain and motherly love. She laced her fingers together and then she brushed her finger against my cheek, her tears wrenching my heart painfully.

“Okay.” I cleared my throat, trying to get rid of the lump that was forming. “Bye. See you soon," I promised. But it might as well be another lie.