A WIP of a World War three fiction tale of a young male named Nick Sandborn.
Date: 5/3/17, Log 1.
I’m going to start these logs, decided it might be a good idea.
My name is Nick Sandborn. I live in the United States, Florida. I am African American, six foot, one inch. I weigh two-hundred and fourteen pounds and am nineteen years old.. I live alone with my mother, my father divorced her years ago…
Date: 8/12/17, Log 2.
I got engaged to my fiancé today. Her name is Alyssa. Long brown hair, brown eyes, the love of my life.
Date: 9/15/17, Log 3.
I found out Alyssa is pregnant.
Date: 11/5/17, Log 4.
My mother passed away today from a stroke…
Date: 2/2/18, Log 5.
Alyssa’s baby was a miscarriage.
Date: 2/24/18, Log 6.
Alyssa dissolved our relationship, we are no longer together…
Date: 12/17/19, Log 7.
It’s been a while, I forgot I had this thing… My life has been tragic… The American government is predicted to crash, resources are becoming scarce. Miniature wars are constant in the Middle East.
Date: 1/1/20, Log 8.
A new year has come, I have no one to celebrate it with…
Date: 2/10/20, Log 9.
World War 3 has officially started. United States, Canada, Great Britain, Mexico, and Australia are allied. We are in a war with other top countries allied together; China, Russia, Africa, and the rest of the Middle Eastern countries.
Date: 3/13/20, Log 10.
I’ve been recruited into the United States Marine Corps, maybe it was for the best…
Date: 4/20/20, Log 11.
I’ve just been accepted as a recruit into the United States Marine Corps. I don’t think I’ll be writing these as often…
The Drill Sergeant walks in the hallway, the room breaks into silence as the recruits see him, they stand at attention. Nick stands straight, staring into the distance, as if something is there. “So, I assume y’all came here for a reason…”, the Drill Sergeant walks up and down the hallway, the lights casting shadows along his path. He approaches Nick, staring at him with a bluffed face, his eyes gleaming. “What brings you here…” The Drill Sergeant stares at the nametag on Nick’s chest, raising an eyebrow, “Sandborn…? What kind of last name is that? Was your mommy giving birth to your ass in the middle of a desert?” “My mother is dead, sir,” Nick says, still staring straight, appearing to be oblivious of the male in front of him. “Did I ask you to tell me your sob story about your ‘mommy’ dying?” The Drill Sergeant blurts out. “No, s-” “That’s what I thought, ‘cruit. Now, what brings your sorry ass here?” “I was drafted, sir,” Nick says, sighing slightly. The Staff Sergeant nods, “Your training is going to be hell before you become a Private, first thing in the morning, tomorrow at six. You better be ready.” Nick nods, staring straight as the Drill Sergeant walks to another recruit, blinking as he hears yelling. Later, Nick walks into the recruit barrack, a metal enclosure, cramped with old bunk beds and rusty lockers along the back wall, objects protruding out of them. The room contains very little lighting and a small wooden table with chairs in the middle. Inside, he meets another recruit for the real first time, this recruit is about five foot, nine inches, has brown short hair, and a full close shaven beard, “Sup?” He looks the male over, examining his nametag, “Err… Johnson?” “Just call me Mark, Sandborn?” Mark says. Nick raises an eyebrow, “Yeah, where you from, Mark?” Mark smirks, “Straight outta Texas.” Nick rubs his eyes, nodding, “I’ve gotta get some rest now, supposedly being trained tomorrow, bright and early in the morning’.” He walks off into his assigned bunk bed, looking on top, spotting someone laying there. He walks over to his locker, taking out a set of ragged clothes, swapping them on. He hops into the hard bunk bed, it emitting a slight squeak from himself adjusting, trying to get as comfortable as possible. He whispers, “Drill Sergeant is a douche,” to reassure himself. He shrugs, “Oh well, one day down, I hate to say it, but I’m somewhat excited for the training tomorrow.” He closes his eyes and starts to lightly snore.