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A little bit of a short one but I wanted to get the ball rolling =]

Tw! Parent death

The nether was hell.

Literally, it was hell.

It reaches temperatures that humans can't survive in, at least for very long. Fire dances around you as scorching lava bubbles below your feet. Balls of flames hurl towards you from the mouths of those trapped there, their tears crystalizing before shattering onto the red rock. At least that is what it was like in my home biome.

It wasn't much better than the other biomes. The Soul Sand Valleys are the worst. Barren, boring, grey, and lifeless. Unless you count the gross tasting mushrooms and husks of the bodies who lived and died walking that wasteland. The Basalt Deltas were covered with sharp rocks and magma cubes. The few times I ventured there, I would expect to leave teary eyed with cuts and burns. The forests were always my favorite. Despite it still being a part of the hell I used to call home, it was one of the places where I could finally feel the weights being lifted off of my shoulders. Where I could actually think without an arrow whizzing past my ears, or wrapping bandages around my tired limbs. It was the place where my parents felt it was safe leaving me alone.

Oh, my parents. To be honest, I barely even remember them. My family consisted of me, my mother, and my father. We were attacked by zombies when I was young, killing them but sparing me. To this day, I still don't know why they did it. Maybe it was because I was too small? I suppose eating a piglin that was just skin and bones wasn't the most appetizing thing in the world. Maybe it was because they had at least some morale to not eat a child. I say maybe, considering they nipped my ear before leaving but, a decomposed heart still beats.

It wasn't too bad being by myself. I tried running to other piglins for help but they all turned me down with faces of disgust. They talked amongst themselves while staring at me like I was actually dead. After overhearing their poorly disguised whispering, that assumption wasn't too far off. You see, zombie piglins don't live very long. Slowly, the place they were bitten would get more and more infected, killing them. I asked them if there was any cure, but all I received was shrugs and murmurs. Then they just walked away. They walked away without an ounce of sympathy. How is it that the undead I was told were monsters had more of a heart than the people who were supposed to protect me?