Read The War Game for Free Online

stuff.
     
    ~~~
     
                  I woke up with the sun poking me blindly in the eyes.
                  My legs felt awful, my back felt worse. It wasn’t until I took the last painful step on the stairs that I realized I could have just slid down the slide.
                  I walked around, telling myself that I wasn’t looking for the boy I met the other day, but I was. I found my way to the octopus but I didn’t need my stuff right then. Good thing, because there was Margaret pushing a kid on the swings.
                  I walked over to the fountain, cupped my hands, and started to drink. It tasted moldy. Probably from the dollar coins that sat on the bottom. Like anyone could buy a wish for a dollar. A dollar gets you nothing. And then I spotted a drinking fountain. The water there was even colder. I felt dumb again.
                  Then I heard this great big splash.
                  Well, I’d found the boy.
                  He appeared to be taking part in some sort of bathing ritual, his shirt hanging out of his pocket. He was rolling and splashing around, like he was fighting some sort of invisible monster.
                  He saw me, stopped, and said, “Nothing like a nice bath to start off the day. Do you have a smoke?”
                  Gross. I shook my head no. “I heard it makes your breath smell bad,” I half-teased.
                  “Do you want to find out?” He did a cartwheel in the fountain, fell down, and was back to battling an invisible monster again. Find out how? By him showing me how to smoke or how to kiss?
                  I saw people mulling around in a dusty gift shop. I walked on over to investigate and I thought about inviting the boy to go with me but why bother? He didn’t need my invitation.
                  There was nothing in the store. Well, not much. Key chains, stuffed animals with missing eyes, and fanny packs.
                  But it appeared that people were stocking the shelves instead of looting.
                  A skinny man wearing dorky khaki shorts and glasses came into the store with a twelve-pack of lemonade in cans.
                  Micah saw it. “All edibles will go to the Rock N’ Roll Diner, past the tree house.”
                  The ginger kid from the bus ride before was in the store with his “adopted” dad. “The tree house,” he whined. “Can I go in there?” he pleaded with big eyes.
                  But the man shuddered, “Never. I don’t want you going in there.”
                  He must have stumbled upon the creature as well.
                  “Nor should anyone go to the haunted house. It’s best that everyone, especially children, stay clear of those areas. We are not alone; this was not an empty park when we arrived.” He lifted a box of something from behind the counter. He opened it and held up an utterly useless key chain.
                  He rolled his eyes and flung it onto the floor.
                  The child raced over to it, picked it up, and started twirling it around in his finger. I moved back, out of the store, for I did not care to get smacked in the face by a plastic timber wolf.
                  I ran into the guy again. He acknowledged me and walked over.
                  “What’s your name?” I asked him.
                  “You can call me Calvin.” He did not look like a Calvin. Not with his long hair and everything. He looked like the type that would mosh at metal festivals. Actually, he looked like the type that would shred on stage at metal festivals.
                  “Is that your real name?”
                  “No, but you can call me that if you want.”
                  “Well, I’m