Blossom

Town

Caeden slept on the ground that night. It was harsh, hard, windy, and moist with the mixture of the natural dampness of the ground and the sickly sweet crimson regret that flooded the grass. There were no creatures about, thank the Gods. The area was coated with a harsh sort of silence; the one that drills into your very soul and drains you of emotions. Moonlight made the grass sparkle ever so slightly, and illuminated the boy's hair. He woke several times during the night, and each time, he saw that lovely moon watch down on him, as if it was guarding him. It helped the situation slightly, Caeden always found the moon very calming and sweet. If it was not as full or as bright, he probably would have gone insane with grief.

The hazy morning sun, a trademark for the farmlands where he lived, came up, and awoke the boy for the first time. Usually, his mother got him up a few moments before sunrise, and the curtains in his room were constantly closed, allowing the boy to never have the mild agony of waking up by a ray of harsh and bright sunlight. Grey eyes dulled and blonde hair horridly unkempt, he got his bearings and decided to head back to his home-

No, not his home, not anymore. The atrocities that were committed in that "home" infected it with a plague of hatred. No, that place was merely a shelter, a hideout, a place of rest. Nevermore would Caeden have a home, so he thought. As the early rays of sunlight hit his pale neck, he thought of supplies he could find. There was food, water, bags, the necessities for sure. What about sleeping items, or personal items? Could he give those up? Caeden wasn't sure, and pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He'd worry about them when he arrived.

After a good fifteen minutes of walking-he accidentally went in the opposite direction for about seven minutes-Caeden arrived at the doorstep of the shelter, the acrid stench of bodily fluids filling his nostrils and making his very insides turn into mush. With cautious hands, he pushed open the doorway to the Finnik home. Another wave of vile scents and feelings hit him, and the boy nearly dashed out of the house, never to return again. However, surviving another night was slightly more important, and he ventured deeper.

Everything was about the same, except for the blood spatters decorating the wallpapered sides. Holding his breath, he sprinted across the dining room to get to his bedroom. Tears started filling his eyes again, both the lack of oxygen and the painful memories from last night rearing their ugly heads causing his eyes to water. He arrived at his room, which was in the same condition as yesterday. Bed was made, a few pieces of clothing were strewn about, his desk was almost covered with papers, it was almost like nothing ever happened. Caeden grabbed his schoolbag, which was near empty, and dumped it out on his bed. A few papers and sticks of charcoal fell out, smearing blackness on the sheets. He stuck in a spare change of clothing, some of the food he always kept underneath his bed, some spare money, and a journal his uncle wrote in. It described the edible plants and animals around New Azure and somewhat beyond that. It was mainly for the mideastern region, where the Finniks lived. It also covered some of the southern region, mostly because the flora was much more similar there than the western or the northern section of the Western-North. He gently put it away, for some of the pages were rotting and faded from days of being carried in the moist air. Caeden honestly had no idea what to pack and what not to. Sure, he read and listened to tales of young boys his age fighting monsters and destroying evil, but they never described what they packed for the journey. With a small sigh, he closed the satchel and wandered back to the dining room to reach the kitchen.

His eyes were down, staring at the floor. There was still blood on the ground, but not nearly as much. He pushed open the door to the kitchen, and the warm scent of bread and some spices filled the air. A smile came onto his face; rich memories of baking with his grandparents came back, making an absolute mess, mixing everything together, and getting those scrumptious licks of batter off the spoon. He sighed, reopened the bag, and swung open the cabinet doors.