If you like dystopian, and hate politics, this is for you!

The constant fear of being caught made my bones rattle. Paper thin, lightweight, and plastic. I was one of those cheap skeletons made of hollow plastic. In one second, you feel so confident. You are going to make it, you are getting back at all that you did to survive. They won't find you. You are smarter than they are.  A sudden movement, and your whole world crashes down on top of you. All the fear, all the predictions you made. It crashes like a ceramic doll, shattering from a high shelf. You feel so ignorant, that you would let them slip through the cracks. At times like this, no one else speaks, circling the deck. Going upstairs, then down. Fear makes its way through our hideout, circling around us like cigarette smoke. Entailing us in its clutches. A place for the exiled, the outlawed, the imprisoned.Were we running from them or ourselves? How can I trust anyone anymore? How can this be what I have been brought to, just because of who I am? We're all in the same boat, literally. Our stories are intertwined. A ship never destined to sail, sorry boat it. Hey, we need comedians so that we don’t go insane, or whatever happens to this  forsaken palace of the Devil’s playpen. So tiresome, so much adversity that will finally find its way into humanity's lungs, choking them from the inside, and when nothing is left to fight for, it runs into your heart like a bullet. She may also try to steal your supplies.

I awake as I usually do, to my apocalyptic alarm clock of explosions ever since Australia got hold of North Korea’s missiles. The small islands of Indonesia have sunken, at least that's all that the ship's radio has gotten, that and Russian propaganda. Here in International waters, most of the time it is calm, the occasional boat trying to find shelter, or a runaway soul seeking comfort in our organization. Thirteen kids on this ship alone, eight others with varying stories. Two miles out, our sister ship, The Rever, lay dormant without fuel, and supplies are low. Captain Russell fears we might not make it in time, but I have hope. You can’t be a pessimist while people die left and right in front of your face. Keep your spirits up like a cheerleader while you fight for your country. The thing is, we all aren’t rooting for the same player. Speak of the devil herself, Anastasya walks in my bunker. Her white sandy hair stood no chance against the power of motor oil. Her Russian physique has gotten even more toned working in the hot sun off the coast of Madagascar. I have no need to turn on my headset discarded after last night’s meeting, her english has gotten better, and I need to keep the battery on if the ship gets attacked.
¨General, we have communication with the, uh, wait, ship!¨ Like I said, spot on English.
¨Thank you, Anastasya. You can leave now.” She gives me a wide smile, like one you would see at a carnival haunted house, but I digress.
“ The Captain has also brought to my attention that the representative of all how you say,country! Unlike you and  capitalist ideals and mindset that, but there are new shipment of butter rolls and good. Very good, I leave.” As she leaves, her tiresome rosy Ukrainian perfume leaves a trail of what was once before, when wealth was gained. I guess the communists won, we’re all equal in the eyes of a gun barrel.

Our table  sits right next to a hot tub left behind by looters. I could imagine some crazy ex-sorority sisters looting a cruise ship while their dads go to war. Ahh, that’s the feeling of neglect. Next to me stands our branch from the U.S, first mate Austin stood many inches above my head and would definitely love my job, but he and I both saw his record when he entered this vessel. To my left is the other representative from the U.S, Chastity. All I can say is she is a great representative, not because of her political diversity, but her lip injections definitely have everyone staring straight at her. We’re so diverse, its almost like a 90’s cartoon. The captain is late, as usual. It isn’t that easy to have hundreds of teens getting out of trouble, debates, and utter chaos. A Indonesian girl runs into this room, sweat dripping from her threaded brow. Perhaps the tears of the eyebrows that lost their loved ones in todays waxing? No, it was so much worse that what my mind could comprehend.
“It’s the code. Code, uh, alarm!” she runs, praying. All I can comprehend was
“save…. your mercy....” I wasn’t so very  nitpicky with religion, but some people must rely on something. people around me are getting ready, It’s nothing serious.  Twice or three times a week, even in international waters, times get tough. I take my way up the lido deck, the mess hall, and the main deck for the ever so bright and shining sun beating down on us. I set on my headset, the black pleather already hot with bare minutes.
“Captain, you see anything out there?” Silence. Muffles anxiety. His scruffy sea voice starts to gurgle up.
“It seems to be a middle eastern U-boat. No one on deck, but there seem to be some guns loaded on the lower deck. I say we-” Broken white noise enter the sound of captain trying to get back communication.
“?imdi teslim! ?imdi teslim! Biz güç kullanmak olacak!”  The voice was angry, female, and filled with determination.A Israeli kid got hold of the captain and I.
“ She said surrender now, we will use nuclear power. Captain, I saw we surrender.” My mind is racing, we haven’t had a full scale attack since we began refuge in international waters. Multiple voices start to get on the headset.
“Captain,”
“Cap..”
“yang?n!
“Cap!” Gunshots, screams, it all seems like a mix tape of pain. Our Starboard has been ruptured, and people start to rush through the doors, no tears shed. we’re teenagers, not Real Housewives. The world may be at war, but now is time to kick this war into high gear.