The War Game by Crystal Black Page B

who cared anymore.
     
    ~~~
     
                  I avoided them not because I hated her (although I would admit that I tried to find things wrong with her) but because I wanted to live a little bit longer in denial. I didn’t want to know anything more about them. I didn’t want to see them holding hands because that would just kill me. I reminded myself I’d been alive for almost fourteen years without knowing who the hell he was and I could live another fourteen more without him. Stupid boy. I knew I didn’t need him but that didn’t make me want him less.
                  I gave myself some time and distance to get over him. But I couldn’t. I didn’t sleep at night, I barely slept during the day. There were enough little tasks during the day to keep myself busy. Making bandages, spooning slop into the mouth of people who couldn’t feed themselves, talking to that little kid and his mother, making more sense out of my anatomy book, hanging out with the Ladies, and so on.
                  At night, I tried to time out the moment I stepped into line because those around you would be your bed mates. Often, Luann lets me cut in line with her and her little son, Ricky. Most people didn’t mind, they did the same thing. People tried to stand next to someone in the line who looked relatively healthy and whose injuries were wrapped good and tight enough so nothing could poke the wound during sleep and make it bleed again. The people who looked infected and gross didn’t even notice what the rest of us were doing, too defeated to have any hurt feelings. 
                  But it was at night where he crept into my thoughts and consumed them. Devoured them, even. I didn’t even allow myself to think about where and whom he might be bedding down with at night.
                 
    ~~~
     
                  I was looking through my anatomy book when Ricky wandered over, trailed by his mom. Before I had a chance to close my book, he was already pointing to different organs, laughing at the “naked” people.

              Then, to my surprise, Luann started to talk about the different body systems and what they did, simplified for a seven-year-old’s brain.
                  Then I got a great idea. I borrowed Luann’s pocket knife (she keeps it in the ripped tongue of her shoe) and very carefully, I cut out the bodies showing the different systems. Circulatory, digestive, muscular, all of them.
                  I explained to him that they were paper dolls. Jim, back from several camps ago, made me some dolls before. He made me a Pearl doll that looked much better than I do in real life. Then he drew some clothes and accessories. Everything was done in a black marker but Jim could draw clothes better than any I had ever seen. He made the paper Pearl a really glamorous gown, the kind movie stars would wear to receive awards when movies were still being made. He also made a ton of funny hats too. Big ones with feathers and stuff sticking out of them. He made the paper doll a pearl necklace, even though I asked him not to. He insisted and then I had to let him. Said that pearls were exquisite and that I’m lucky to be named after them.
                  “My name’s Jim. Just boring old Jim.” And from then on, I always referred to him as “Boring Old Jim.”
                  I needed to stop this. One damn thought only leads to another. One tear added to another.
                  I didn’t need to explain much about the concept of paper dolls to Ricky. He got excited and proceeded to grab them all out of my hands.
                  It was weird how throughout history, people had always made little figures of people. Dolls. Jim told me that. Often times I felt like a doll. My throat was suffocating with that stuff pillows are made out of. People pulled a string this way and I went