I love my mother so much. Not as much as my sister does, but I'm not complaining being the second winner here. She would never say it out loud but it's a truth that no mouth can speak of.

I'm too young to understand most things, but I can definitely say that love has different connotation from one person to another. Kiera, my sister, has a type of love that every mother would dream of from their daughters. She is kind, loyal, caring, and emotionally very sensitive, despite her stupidly efficient and effective work ethics.

But I was told in school that the purest form of love is one that our government's gives. Law, order, and justice is what drives the world. Nothing can work if some people high above us aren't working. Yesterday, the government sure did gave me proofs of how much of a hard worker they are. It happened to a man that I met on my way home from school.

The sky is dark orange, my friends have gone ahead of me while I walk slowly home. Near the school, I walked past a crowd of people looking at someone. A masculine figure, like that of my dad, sitting on a chair with blindfolds on. Another person stand beside him, wearing red and holding unto something familiar on his hand. The red-gown man shouted something about love, one that our government is giving that blindfolded man. Everyone had this blank expression, listless as if they have seen this kind of performance hundreds of time.

The red man placed something on that guy's head. A high pitched, thundering sound was heard soon after that. From a sitting position, his body just lies down with his belly to the ground. His head is poking a bit outside of the elevated stage.

I can see a kind of red liquid, coming out of his head. The red man smirk as he exits the area, guarded by several people with weapons strapped to their body. Those were his blood, I think.

His grin and proud face is creepy. I don't want to see it ever again. I walk faster than before, leaving the location. A government's love sure looks scary. A love that they might give me in a short moment.

All that happened a week ago. Right now, I'm on a one way trip towards the neighboring country. This place is not safe anymore for our family, at least that's what both of my mother and sister told me.

One of my neighbor seems to overheard mom in the middle of the night, listening and crying to the radio. They immediately reported us to the Disciplinary Police.

My sister alerted us about the news, as she heard it from the murmurs of our neighbors. We scrambled in panic, thinking of a way out of this country. I didn't take any luggage with me, leaving everything behind but the clothes on my body.

Before leaving, my sister made me wear a weird kind of shirt. It's for protection, she said. For me, it's just a plain white shirt, with scribbles on top of it. Both mom and her is wearing the same thing too.

Because of the high competency of my mother, she already devices a plan to escape the country, way back when she was just a virgin. As we stepped out of our house for one last time, Mom began talking to a guy on the street not far from there. That guy talks to another guy. At last, we were told to wait at a certain spot, dropped off on another, and then being picked up by a certain bus.

That certain bus, is the one that I'm in right now. There's me and my mother, sitting side by side. Her expression is shaded by a striking light of the sky, beautiful if compared to our current situation. I feel her tight grasps upon my fingers, trembling together in anxiousness.

My sister Kiera on the other hand, sat a little far from our seat, near the bus' entrance. I can't really see her face from here, but that iconic slumped silhouette is unmistakably hers.

Conductor

Listen up people!

He stand tall from the rest of us. The sway of the bus doesn't affect his rock steady stance. After traveling for hours in silence with everyone here, I'm now familiar with his voice. Enough to wake me up from my half-asleep state.

He is a that called himself "Conductor", even though we are not riding a train. His main job is to get us safely across the border. Everyone trusts him out of necessity, because he's the only person we know that can get the job done. I don't like this guy one bit, his glare scares me, but beggars can't be choosers.

Conductor

Right now we are ten minutes away from our last stop! Everyone be aware and don't look like droop and drop!

We're here to survive and get to the other side, peacefully! In one piece, hopefully!

As long as none of you are a state level wanted criminal, we gon' be good.

I'm sitting near the window, so I can peer forward even just a bit. Not a lot I can explain other than a single post with a lot of cars and weapon-ready security guards. I don't feel like I should fear them, but I'm going to stay still and shut up anyway.

The bus slows to a crawl and then stops right in front of a barrier. It's made out of metal bar, painted red and white in a regular pattern across its length. The wall that surrounds us are decorated with barb wires and glass shrapnel embedded in stones. Some guard dogs wearing metal spikes around their necks is waiting for the bus door to open. They look well disciplined and wary of everyone.

The guards themselves are not any less scary than their pet. They are wearing a black jacket with bumps all over them, pockets of tools and munitions. The guards are also wearing a mask, similar to what you see in war. Big, menacing, and elongated to the side. Mom owned one at home, but hers was painted and smelled a lot less disgusting than theirs.

One of them stepped inside of the bus. He is not as tall as I imagined, but he is well aware that the gun strapped near his stomach scared some of us enough to respect his presence. Everyone droops down with their hands grabbing unto a seat in front of them. It's like they are bracing for a crash.

He walks slowly between the bus seats, leaning over every single passenger and sniffs their musk closely. I think they are searching for something in our possession.

After a quiet while, he finally reaches my seats. My eyes is looking straight forward, eyelids stopped blinking, mouth shut. Everyone is trying not to upset him in anyway possible. I tried to do the same. I guess this is what mom sometimes called as fomo. A word from ancient tongue that came from an abbreviation of the sentence, "Fir of messin oot".

I can see a name tag on his dark colored jacket, "Philip". Philip looks like a nutcase, staring with a blank eyes into something far-far-away. His expression teemed with nothing but a clean and unwrinkled face, like what you can see in a dead man. A dead man similar to the guy on that execution block.

Philip is right beside me, he stops walking, starts to peering in. His nose is hovering above my head, like a dog. I can feel him smiling, however that worked. The skylight outside is overshadowed by his thin body.

The conductor saw what's happening to me, his eyes' wide open, unnaturally so. Guess it's a code that he's giving me, some kind of cue. But I can understand it well even with my undeveloped childish brain. "Don't move, let him do anything".

Phillip straighten up from his bent over position. The bus population's attention is directed right on him. His left arm jolts to a straight-up position, forming the letter "L".

Philip

May I have your attention everyone. The following information is detrimental to your acceptance in crossing our border. Listen closely.

We are a proud nation of millions. Not a single one of us ever lied to the government, I'm sure. But evil people are always lurking behind, in the shadows. Obstructing justice and the desire of our government.

This is unacceptable.

So, some of our brightest mind comes together and form a working group. Their task was to assess which one of our senses lied the least.

First one to go out is taste. They lie to us all the time about what we eat and what's in it. A little bit of salt could turn a vegetable from common grasses into a fine supper.

Second of all is touch. We are used to be loved by our wives. Her touch were known to be warmer and nicer than that of a prostitute. Even though scientifically speaking, there are no difference in both.

Third is our sense of hearing. How many people have you seen can imitate other men's voices?

Fourth to be eliminated is the eye. Drink a little and you will see the most horrendous whore ever, as a beautiful princess. These pair of useless eyeballs are made to be deceived.

But our nose, this is one thing that we can rely on. No matter how much perfume and deodorant you're using, nothing can get pasts a trained nose. A human scent is so distinct to me, that if there's an irregular smell in the air, I can catch it faster than you can name it.

That being said, you little lady are an odd one. You, someone on the front, and the woman beside you. Your mother perhaps.

You don't smell like anything. Even after I practically touch your head with my nose, you are still un-smell-able.

This girl, the woman beside her, and that woman on the front. Take them outside.

Conductor

No you won't.

BANG!

Philip's face is torn-clean off his skull by a bullet coming from behind him. It came from the front, the driver seat. There, for a split second, I saw a manly figure mightily standing tall holding a then-concealed sawed-off shotgun.

Don't ask me how I know what a sawed-off shotgun looks like.

Kiera

Conductor watch out!

One of the guards starts shooting at Conductor, but to no avail. Bullets helplessly floating for a second only to drop to the ground. I have seen what a bullet looks like after an impact. It's supposed to be this squished out mushroom instead. Turns out, my sister is shielding him with her body. The scribbles on her shirt turns blue whenever a bullet is coming near her.

Manly Guy

DIE TYRANT!

A muscly man, hidden behind a massive robe stands up and shoot a guard that's near the bus door. He is using a gun that was taken right from Philip's still warm dead body. His shot hit the windshield and grazes a guard, forcing him outside of the bus.

Grazed Guard

OPEN FIRE!

OPEN FIRE!

Thousands of projectiles goes right past my head, hitting a person behind me right in her throat. It bounces around the bus, leaving behind bodies and injuries. Some of us who are lucky starts to run outside of the bus, in search for a cover.

Somehow inside of this raging fire fight, the conductor is still alive and well. He is hiding behind Kiera's body, with her standing tall absorbing every single shot that's directed to us. His gun is pointed outside, peeking around my sister to take one or two very accurate shots towards the guards. This man feels like a professional, none of his movement looks wasted or unnecessary. But it seems he is the only person between all of us that have any idea on how to fight.

As I look behind me, I see the manly man who was shooting first at those guards. He is sitting on the floor, slumping his back on a metal wall near the back of the bus. His eyes are blank, a bullet wound is clearly visible near his heart. Bless him, he still wants to fight them to his last breath.

Everything smells like iron. Blood permeates the air around me. Multiple men and women are gun downed without mercy and discrimination. I screamed my lungs out until I can't hear the bullets flying by. My mom who sits beside me is holding onto my head, putting it down behind the seats in front of us.

Peeking from the edge of my vision, she looks terrified but determined. Not even a projectile moving faster than what eyes can see is terrifying enough to cover over my death. I can feel her love growing in me, protecting my being with all that a mother can muster. Then, a shout.

Conductor

Karen! Kara! Stay behind me at all cost! We will go through the borders, now!

Not a lot of words can be exchanged in this hail of bullets. Kiera reassured me with a single nod, enough to give us strength to move on from our cowering position.

Right now we are bunching up together, chest to chest, forming a line behind Kiera. She is using herself as a shield and bait. We are safe hiding behind her, least for now.

It's scary to walk outside of the bus. Every armed men have their sights on us. Although this shirt have proven to be very useful for our survival, it doesn't guarantee our safety upon crossing the border.

Conductor shouts at us in a very assertive and militaristic tone while pointing towards a flimsy gate that's between us and freedom. He reloads his gun in the midst of battle as fast as he can. My sister is walking forward bit by bit, being careful as to not let any bullet reaches him.

Conductor

Our goal now is to cross the gate, then run as fast as possible to the other side!

Kiera

How are we going to do that?!

Conductor

We need to move faster than them! They will not want to shoot right across to The Republic unless they are prepared for a war!

Kiera

Are they?!

Conductor

We'll see!

Destroyed roads, amputated men, and uncountable amount of blood lost on the roads. I will not forget the sight outside of the bus, anytime soon. Mom is clinching me till I almost bleed. My sister is leading the way bravely, while that Conductor is shooting around her masterfully.

A single soldier sneaks up on us, slipped from our unfocused, divided attention. He tries to pull my mother by her shirt, forcefully tearing it away from her body. Strands of cotton threads is flying through the air. I can notice the blue light on her shirt's inscriptions wanes. The conductor felt something wrong behind him, immediately aimed at the guy's head, shooting right beside me, and solves the issue with a pull of a trigger.

He lumps sideways immediately. His eyes are wide open, expressionless. The man's hand is now full of my my mother's torn shirt, which he manages to stripped off completely. She hides herself in shyness, only for a moment though. She immediately realizes that we are still in the middle of a battlefield.

I cover my mother from incoming attacks while the Conductor guides us towards the border. Crossing it is a matter of time now that there's no one other than an empty space in front of us. This might be it, we are alive.

By some miracle, we are. My feet are paces away from an imaginary line. Turns out that's enough for everyone to respect us and not shoot into our direction, which faces towards The Republic. Everyone falls silent, almost dead quiet. From the other side of this cruel pond, a man wearing military outfits kindly takes our hands knowing that we have gone through a lot today.

Our Conductor takes one last look towards those who shot at him just a moment ago. They know he is politically invincible now. Any kinds of attack towards him, will probably crossed over or missed and landed right on The Republic's soil. He knows they are not ready for a full scale war just yet.

Conductor

I AM WAITING FOR YOU, GOVERNMENTS SWINE!

I heard him shout it out loud while being carried away to safety by the army of The Republic. It sends chills down my spine, for a person brave enough to do that. One would say he is too brave for a person in the range of a grenade being thrown at him.