War Zone

It always make me anxious. I can hear the shots being fired back and forth. I listened with closed eyes, sending a prayer to God that it  would stop. But it wouldn’t stop. A victim to a parental war, and a witness to a failing marriage. I can feel the vibration through the wall, his anger tangible. I can feel her retort by the shaking of the ground. It doesn’t come from her, the emergency aid, the one who cleans up the hurt he causes. No it comes from him. He takes up the space and suffocates all words, and mocks all intentions. 
It’s not healthy. This war zone. It’s damaging. The rubble it’s caused, I don’t think will ever be fixed. The bridges it’s burn won’t be repaired. It’s faster and easier to destroy with your words than to rebuild with them. In the patches of dead crops and gardens, weeds grow where there was once beauty and life. Weeds grow across the remains, keeping the broken pieces where they are. They poke out from the cracks in the city’s foundation, growing by the day. 
All I ever seem to do is trigger the mines. Set off once again the ongoing battle that no one ever wins. Or, watch in horror as my sister steps on the wrong place. Shots pound into her head and heart. I try to reach her, but it seems as if she’s in a coma to protect herself from harm. I’ve been in the same spot for years. I can never be still for long, though, my legs burn to move, leave and and never come back, body trembling with exhaust. I try to tense my muscles to keep them where they are, but I can’t continue that way for long periods of time. As soon as I shift an inch I trigger another mine, or make myself visible by accident. I never truly get peace. The nagging in the back of my mind when there’s a truth makes me shiver.
I don’t want a truce, I want this war to be over. I’m just counting the days until someone grows the the balls to walk away.