If you're reading this, I'm sorry. It means you're here too. Though, there isn't even a "here" anymore, at least not where I am.

It's nothing but a barren, frigid wasteland covered in ash and dust. The only colour found is the clothing still desperately clinging to the rotting corpses scattered about.

Once human, now free.

Though, those of us left alive are really the dead ones.

When the war started, my mother would always say we would be saved, that people would come for us. They did. They came with bright lights, smoke, and pain.

That isn't being saved.

No one came to save us when we were left behind.

No one came to help us when my mother's skin started peeling off her bones like silk ribbons.

No one came to help us, and no one ever will.

It doesn't matter what happens to us, it never did. As long as those in power stay safe, this war was worth it.

It's funny how the ones furthest from the choices always suffer the consequences.

We're always the targets, the ones they drop their bombs on.

I still hear the screaming.

Piercing cries echoing in my head, bouncing around like a grenade in my skull, and I'm stuck here, waiting for it to blow.

My mother's cry is the most deafening of all. Hers isn't just fear, it's betrayal, guilt, and sorrow all muddled together. She didn't just lose her life, she lost her hope, her smile, all the puzzle pieces that put her together got burned up.

Now I'm alone.

It's not just the screams, it's the light too. Every time I close my eyes, I see it dancing around under my eyelids like my own little universe of suns. I still remember when I saw it for the first time. Bright, blinding light filled my retinas, layers of gold and saffron streaking the sky with warmth. At first, I thought it was heaven, but turns out it was hell.

After that, nothing was normal, good, or happy ever again.

That's just life, isn't it? We build ourselves a home not realizing we really built a tomb, and now it's sealed shut.

That's when I hear it. The all too familiar, and all too painful whirring of planes in the sky.

CBC Books asked students to give us a glimpse of the great Canadian novel of the year 2174. They wrote the first page of a book set 150 years in the future, with the protagonist facing an issue that's topical today and set the scene for how it's all playing out in a century and a half.

Two winning entries — one from the Grades 7 to 9 category and one from the Grades 10 to 12 category — will be chosen by middle-grade author Basil Sylvester.

They are the co-author of the middle-grade novel The Fabulous Zed Watson and the recently published second book in the series, Night of the Living Zed.

Both winners will receive a one-year subscription to OwlCrate, which sends fresh boxes of books to young readers across Canada on a monthly basis. In addition, each winners' school libraries will receive 50 free YA books.

Last year's winners were Christian A. Yiouroukis for his story Where the Maple Leaf Grows and Bee Lang for their story One Question.

The winner will be announced on CBC Books on June 12, 2024.