"Where are you off to?" asked Johnny's mother. "We've got family coming in soon. I'd really like it if you stayed put."

"Not now, please, ma," Johnny said.

He put on his shoes and walked outside on a nice Sunday morning. It's been five weeks since the last draft. He watched it with Corey, and they were both stunned, speechless to be more detailed. The days got a bit better, but it was still cloudy on some days.

Johnny had worked harder in school, even though the population decreased more and more. On a beautiful Sunday evening, the sun was out. Kids were out playing in the nice, clear spring air. The roads are being worked on. People walking their dogs and families taking a stroll around town. It was almost as if there was no war going on, just another Sunday.

Walking downtown, Johnny went to see Mr. Maimo. Mr. Maimo was a war veteran who gave Johnny a job at his bookstore. For the past few weeks, Johnny quit working at the supermarket and started working at Maimo's Bookstore. During times when no one would enter, Mr. Maimo would tell Johnny about the war. Mr. Maimo had brown hair and was forty-two years old. He had no left arm and had burn scars on his right arm and torso. He was medically discharged after serving in the Marines and fighting on the Western Front. He had lost weight since the incident happened. Nor does he talk much about it. His war stories while wandering around the small store were like music to Johnny's ears. In fact, the sun would always shine every time Mr. Maimo told a story.

Johnny put on his apron and stood behind the counter of the bookstore. Mr. Maimo came in carrying a basket of books dropped off at his drop-off box in front of the store. He wore shiny reading glasses that kept sliding down to his nose every time he put them back up. Johnny greeted him with a smile, hoping for another story.

"Johnny, boy?" Mr. Maimo said. "Isn't today wonderful?"

"Yes, sir," Johnny replied. "It was a nice walk, almost as if there wasn't a war."

"Sundays were always so beautiful," he smiled. Walking toward the window, still carrying a load of books. "I always wished for a Sunday like this in battle."

"Did you ever read books in battle?" Johnny asked.

"Of course," Mr. Maimo replied. "I always read books. I read some to my battle buddy. I read some to the officers and the soldiers who were afraid. Many young soldiers crowded around me as if they were in elementary school, surrounding a teacher when they read."

"Do you have any friends still in battle that you miss?" Asked Johnny.

"Well," he paused for a moment. "Yes, in fact I do." Mr. Maimo walked over and put the books down. He adjusted the shelves and placed each book in its correct genre. "I had multiple friends in my company." He moved the basket to another shelf and aligned the books neatly. Aligning them by number order if they were numerous prequels and sequels and by identity. "The last thing I remember before everything happened was that they were continuing on in a bloodbath of a battle." Mr. Maimo stopped moving. He stared deeply at the books as his lip quivered. No tears came from his eyes as he kept staring at the nicely aligned books on the wooden shelf.

Johnny looked over to see what was happening. Moving from the counter, he accidentally knocked over two large books perched on a ledge behind him. The slamming sound shook Mr. Maimo, activating his fight or flight senses. Johnny watched Mr. Maimo look both ways, eyes wide open, before slowly realizing where he was.

"Erm," he coughed. "I'm sorry, Johnny."

"No, no worries, Mr. Maimo," Johnny stared. In his mind, he couldn't process what had just happened. "What was that?" he thought. "That was scary. Why did he do that? What was that? That was scary. Is he ok? What was that? That was scary." These sentences popped in and swirled through Johnny's head. Not even an outburst, just physical movement. It appeared as though something had alerted him. It wasn't dramatic, but the look of fear could be seen, not just from his eyes but from his body movement and position. His breathing became heavier, as if he were about to scream something, but he stopped himself.

"So, Johnny?" Mr. Maimo asked. "Do you have any friends?"

"Actually, yes," Johnny replied. "I had a ton, but they all went to war; just a few months. A couple weeks ago, I lost my two other friends to the draft."

"Tell me more," Mr. Maimo asked. He was still putting books on the shelves.

"Well, it was a bit crazy, really," Johnny replied. "But it was interesting, to say the least."

[A Friend]

Johnny remembers the day of the draft with Corey. When the announcement came and a birthday was called, they were both stunned. The tunes that were playing in the supermarket were supposed to be uplifting. Except as they watched the draft, it felt as if the music was getting louder and louder. Like a violin was shrieking and scratching on purpose.

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Corey had a look of horror on his face. He wasn't much of a fighter, as tears streamed down his eyes. He looked at Johnny, and all Johnny could do was stare. No amount of speaking could help someone that is scared of war, let alone leave those he cherishes behind. The cool atmosphere in the supermarket was as dead as the dodo.

Johnny had to exhale multiple times when talking about this story. His head wasn't right, but he still didn't understand how it all happened so fast. He told the story, but left out key parts. One of them was that he never said the name of his friend. Mr. Maimo walked over to him and patted him on the shoulder.

"When I enlisted, people came from every walk of life," he stated. "I had people come from highly secured cities and those who came from invader-controlled areas, slums, and small towns. The rich, middle-class, and poor. In the Marines, you rarely get drafted. Many join because they're fighting for one thing or another."

"Is that so?" asked Johnny. His head rests on his right palm. A silent intermission took over the store's atmosphere before Mr. Maimo spoke once more.

"Those who go through struggle only want a way out," he noted. "Or would enjoy a helping hand, a friend of some sort. Have you tried talking to any of your friends who've departed?"

"I have, but I'm not so good at it," Johnny replied. "It's all happening a bit too fast for my liking." Pushing on the old wooden counter, Johnny made a face of disgust. Mr. Maimo wasn't looking at him, but he too sensed something of dissatisfaction.

"You're not alright," Mr. Maimo said. "I've had this feeling before."

*Ding Ding*

The first customer walked into the bookstore. The atmosphere, although forceful, had changed in an instant. The conversation between the two didn't stop, though. Mr. Maimo put a note on the counter as the store's volume gradually increased. Most of the words were hard to read, but some stood out the most. Mr. Maimo tried his best to keep it neutral, but in small words, he stated, "If this burden is getting to you like a stomach ache, think of something nice and relax. What happens, happens. How will you let it decide your life?"

The shift went by in a flash. The book store closed up early as Johnny helped clean.

"Mr. Maimo?" Johnny asked.

"Yes?" he responded.

"What would you say if I joined the military?" Johnny asked. "I still have a mission to complete—more than one, actually."

"Go for it, kid," Mr. Maimo smiled. "Shall I drive you to the recruitment center?"

Johnny paused for a minute. Pausing as he was stacking returned books. "May we stop somewhere before we get there?" he asked.

Johnny had something to do. He didn't want to do it any other day but today. One of many missions to get off his chest. They finished cleaning and closed up shop. Johnny held his phone in his hand. Finger-twitching above his mother's phone number. In the car, driving past the recruitment center. The scenery changed into a glowing and vibrant Sunday evening.

"Why here?" Mr. Maimo asked. "You knew someone?"

"You can come if you want," Johnny suggested.

The car ride wasn't that long, but the wait was. Johnny didn't step out of the car. He was having a mini-panic attack but caught himself quickly. He took deep breaths as his fingers curled on the handle of the car door. His palm was sweating on the tan, hard plastic handle as he urged and pressed himself to open the door.

It took some time, but he finally stepped out, crushing the gravel beneath his boots. Mr. Maimo followed behind him. Walking on the path and looking left and right at the stone tombs, many chipped, others decaying. A groundskeeper was walking around, cleaning the many tombs that have risen since the start of the war.

The grass was nicely cut as a small drift of wind scattered small debris around the pathway and onto the grass. Mr. Maimo towered over the now 5'10” Johnny as they walked alongside each other. The rustling of the leaves on trees as another small drift of wind sways in. That and the sound of the crunching of the gravel beneath both of their feet were the only things that could be heard. Getting closer to what Johnny was looking for, the scratching of the groundskeeper cleaning the tombs echoed into Johnny's ear.

"Over here," Johnny said.

Walking on the grass and looking down at a nicely cleaned white tomb with the name of someone dearest to Johnny. Someone who's been with him since they were younger.

The tomb of Corey Madison Mansfield lay restless at their feet.

"Who might this be?" asked Mr. Maimo.

"A friend of mine," Johnny replied. "The one I was talking about."

"But I thought you said it's been a few weeks since that day?" Mr. Maimo asked.

"That's right," Johnny hiccupped. Putting his hands on his head. "He killed himself the day after."

"I'm sorry," Mr. Maimo said. Putting his hand on Johnny's back and patting it for comfort.

"That's why I have a mission, though he might not like it," Johnny said. "I'll enlist, I'll go to the Marines, and I'll fight for Corey and for all my friends who've perished in this war. For those who have done the same thing that Corey did, for those who live in fear of being drafted or their city being decimated. I'll fight for all of them."

Mr. Maimo smiled. Watching Johnny tear up and crouch down, grabbing the grass and forming a knuckle. Mr. Maimo was witnessing something awakened in Johnny, a new man, a hero, if some may say.

But he's got a plan.

That night, as Johnny lay on his bed, holding the recruitment information to the sky, he wondered what Mara was doing at this very moment. He wondered what his other friends, who are still fighting to this day, were doing. His heart was raging. He was scared, but he couldn't just sit here in this world and wait for his turn. Today he took a toast to evil before tearing up again and falling asleep.

His life was soon to change, and he knew it.