The War Game by Crystal Black Page B

said to me that sometimes people laugh to deal with their grief. I couldn’t imagine what he dreamed about at night.
                  So the Ignis looked like any other cattle prod, except this cattle prod had a button on it. A big, fat red cliché button. Many people talk and everyone knows someone who knows someone but no one has actually seen what it can do. If you ask me, the button is just for aesthetics. Purposely designed for igniting fear, not igniting humans. So the soldiers rounded up everyone and made sure they all got to bed, like we were delinquent children in a third-world orphanage.
                  A few signs that were painted in neon lettering still remain on the windows of the shopping strip. “Buy 2 Get 1 Free,” takes on a whole brand-new meaning. Beds were bolted down everywhere, in rows. There was perhaps a foot, maybe two, of space between each one. It was disgusting.
                  First thing, there were not nearly enough beds for all the people present. The soldiers would put two or three or even four people to a twin-sized bed. A few sheets and one blanket. No pillows. Second, a lot of these people were sick and looked (and smelled) contagious.
                  We got in a line with some other people that were late to the party. I guess if you want to pick out your bed, you had to get there early. I was getting anxious as most of the better beds were filling up. I didn’t want to get split up or share sleeping space with someone who would cough on me all night. People don’t bother to use their arms or hands to cover their mouths when they cough anymore. And sometimes things come flying out that should stay in a body. Like lung tissue.
                  John and I were assigned a bed with the woman and the boy we saw earlier. Not so bad, they looked well enough that I wouldn’t worry about tapeworms slithering in between the sheets.
                  The two of us stood looking at the bed. I bit my tongue as I caught myself almost blurting this out loud to John, “When I imagined going to bed with you, it wasn’t anything like this.” Good thing I thought that one through, didn’t want to give him ideas no matter how great his tan was.
                  There were lots of little holes in the sheets, marked by teeth bites. I pulled down the hole-ridden sheets and saw a rat. I screamed. I woke up some people, everyone stared at me. The holes should have been my first and only warning.
                  When the rat looked at us I foolishly expected it to scamper away. It was defiant and stood up on its hind legs in a pathetic attempt to make itself look bigger. Even the littlest dog will do that. Actually, especially the littlest dogs. People (and animals for that matter) are at their most dangerous when they realize they got nothing left to lose. That’s why I try not to be naive. I know I will get out of here and to Canada someday but I know I have to exchange a bit of blood for that. But these people here, they are moved around like game pieces so they are too exhausted to fight. Or to care anymore.
                  John took hold of the sheets at the end of the bed and snapped them up. The rat went flying into the wall and ran away.
                  John got into bed and waited for me. I was hesitant. How could he do that like as if the rat were just an ant? John shrugged. “I’ve dealt with worse when it comes to animals.”
                  I crawled in and stashed my anatomy book in the pillowcase. I made a plan to sleep on top of the blanket to avoid any rat droppings but I was just too cold now to care. See. A place like this made you stop caring. I tried to remind myself that there were worse things in this room than rat droppings. But that made me feel worse.
                  The woman and her child got in. She made the child sleep on John’s side,