Burn

1. Without A Home

The last gift my father ever gave me was a leather bound journal. Embossed on the cover were three crowns, descending in a vertical fashion; on its sides were laurels. I knew that the expensive book was filled with stories, ones that had been told to me countless times before by candlelight; from the same man who gave it to me. Sometimes I pull it off of the shelf and brush off the dust that's collected, not opening it. Every time, like clockwork, I am hit with a wave of nausea as the smell of cigars and pine flood my senses before I even open the cover.

This is the same book that took my father from me. The same one whose stories were meant to be fictional, turned out to be true. Being young at the time, I didn't fully understand. I didn't know why my parents woke me up in the middle of the night and told me to hide, but I knew better than to argue. Much too tired to ask questions, I slid myself under the loose floorboards of my bedroom like I was taught and laid down. The only things keeping me company were bugs, crawling through the dirt that now covered my nightgown.

Keeping still and silent, despite wanting to move away from the gross things that crawled towards me, I had the sudden realization that my body needed to use the restroom. What moonlight peeked through the window, found its way to the floorboards overhead and illuminated shadows moving around. Unclear if they belonged to my parents or an intruder, I twisted my body slowly to fight my bladder. Muffled voices came from outside my bedroom and after a few minutes, started to fade into the distance. The shadows and heavy footsteps stopped.

There was no telling how long I had remained there, underneath those floor boards; the heaviness of my eyes overcame me and allowed me to sleep until the sun was up. Hoping that it was safe to come out, I lifted the plank of wood just enough to peak out from. Silence, save for the birds. No scary shadows or creaks from the old wood. Sliding it back as quiet as I could in case others were still asleep, I lifted myself up and out of the hole. Deciding against replacing the wood in case I made too much noise, I crept my way slowly around the house.

In each room, the silence took up space. It was loud enough that all I could hear were my heartbeat in my ear. In urgency, I made my way to the bathroom, hoping that if there was anyone else here, that they were just outside. Getting my hopes up, I took the time to change out of my soil-stained nightgown and into decent clothes. Underwear, pale green dress, socks, and shoes... Shoes that had those pesky laces.

"Mom?" I called, after several attempts of trying to tie the laces. Unable to tie them, and without a response from my mom's gentle voice, I walk outside. The silence followed; something that would haunt me for the foreseeable future. In the dirt, there were multiple sets of footsteps and wheel tracks, from what I assumed to be a cart. It led down the dirt driveway and out of sight. Making sure to close the door behind me, I move to follow the tracks...

The memory became blurry and faded from that point forward. My parents never came back after that. I spent my time in various homes, both orphanages and people's homes. I was allowed to bring with me what little I had; book included. The stories that I originally mistook as fictional, I find out later have truth hidden between the lines. Everything was based on real events: people, not princes or princesses, being taken away when they talked too much. Of one reign of a king and his loyal servants with the last name of Ackerman.

It was never talked about in the stories on what happened after they disappeared, and while I have imagined the worst happening, it's not in me to believe it. I want nothing more than to find them and bring them back. No person, government, or other entity can stop me from seeing them again. I'll gladly watch the world burn and know where to start: the Survey Corps.