There Is No War in Westbridge

Résumé

There is no war in Westbridge.

That’s what they said.

Right before they bulldozed the med tents.

Right before the tear gas.

Right before they made sure the cameras only showed our rage—never the reason for it.

I lost the person I loved because this city decided their identity was a death sentence.

And when the grief got too heavy to carry alone, I took it to the streets.

I didn’t come to fight.

I came to scream.

I came to mourn.

But then the gas hit.

Then the crowd scattered.

Then I met him.

Atlas.

A masked barricade in black armor. Silent. Steady. A walking fortress with blood on his gloves and something softer behind his rage. He didn’t say much. But when I couldn’t breathe, he was the one who pulled me out.

And he didn’t let go.

This isn’t the story they’ll tell on the news.

This isn’t a revolution made for soundbites.

This is survival.

This is resistance.

And the war they swear isn’t happening?

It’s already taken too many names.