August 4th, 2150
I had a roasted hound-dog for dinner, cooked it over a smoldering fire in the open air. It was a brisk night like so many before, windless, but the cold crept around me like a slithering snaking, making its way through my skin and flesh, and into my bones. The meal helped retain some of the strength I lost during the battle this morning, during which I took an arrow through my right thigh, and then got separated from the rest of the squad. I do not feel worried, for even if the odds seem dire, I know that we will win this war; I just know it.
I took the map out of my satchel, and marked the spot where I set up camp, which was about a day’s walk from the next town. I put the map back, and rested my head on the ground, with my leather bag under my head. I looked upon the sky, and tried to remember all the stories my father had told me about the stars, and how they used to shimmer at night. But now, there was no such thing. They hid, they hid behind the thick blanket of gases and toxic fumes, which were results of the Greatest of Wars in the year 2066. The heat from the small fire did not help with the cold, but I enjoyed the flames as they dances so bright. I wished things were different, that maybe I would not have to sleep with one eye open, that I would not have to carry around my crossbow and arrows, that this war would just end, and that we’d finally reach the Holy Land. Jerusalem, it was called in the time before time, but now it’s known to the Last Believes as the Holy Land.
I let my mind wander for sometime. I took off its leash and let it roam free, I let it run around taking millions of shapes and compositions until I was too tired to stay away. I took a sip of water, prayed to the almighty, and went to sleep, realizing that this was the day of my birth.
Khadijah ‘Crossbow’ Mostafa
Of The Last Believers’ Army