Inspiration from a Suicide Note

"Get down!!" a civilian yelled.

And without a moment's pause, he crouched down and covered his ears.

A bomb went off. This had been happening routinely for the last couple of weeks. Of course, they did not think light of it. It was a bomb after all. The destruction had already claimed lives. Many of which unknown to him, but many of which were loved dearly by others.

"Thank you!" he shouted.

"We have to look after another," replied the civilian.

"That we do," he nodded in agreement. The ringing in his ear had gotten better. The sound of a bomb exploding are not one of the things you could get used to, nor would you want to get used to it.

The bomb had left a crater on the earth it had exploded on. A piece of paper partially buried caught his attention. He stooped down and shoveled the paper out. The piece of paper had managed to survive, though only barely.

He examined the piece of paper closely. The writing on it and the paper itself showed age. "It's obviously been here before I was born," he thought to himself.

It was. On the bottom, there placed the exact date it had been written. It has since been crossed out by it's writer. The Writer had done such thing because he did not want to be caught. The Writer was a young man who had written the contents of the paper, decades prior to being discovered.

He was not aware of this fact. And despite the dirt made the paper hard to read, he triumphed in doing so. And as he read, he realized that this was a suicide note. Interested, he kept reading until he finished it. He, of course, could not fully finish it. The end of the note read "This was written on March 12, 2011." which was impossible to read.

And so, not affected with what he had read. He'd gone along with his morning and his trip to a nearby convenience store. He had done this every Sunday of his life: go to the convenience store, buy a newspaper and a cup of coffee. He read the headline, paid the cashier, and went on his way home.

When he got home, he placed the cup of coffee and the newspaper on the table.

"Ahh, this coffee has never tasted so good," he said pleased with his cup. The coffee tasted like what it always was. It was ordinary.

He grabbed the newspaper and read the headline again. A tear dropped from his eye. He got his gun and shot himself. He was dead. Blood quickly seeped out of his head. The newspaper was covered in blood, but the bold letters from the headlines could still be read.

It said, "WORLD WAR THREE HAS BEGUN."

He was 24. The Writer is alive and well.