Drip, drip, drip. Aaron woke up to a cold sensation starting from the centre of his forehead and spreading out like a disease. He sighed, "Gotta fix the roof again." For it had been cold water dripping down on him. Drip, drip, drip. He took a metal bucket out of a broom cupboard and placed it underneath where the hole in the roof was, moving the blankets on the floor out of the way.
He had slept fully dressed, so he slipped his shoes on and went outside through the front door, or a piece of wood on hinges. He went to the back of the "house" and climbed the ladder, welcoming to his weekly morning endeavours.
Once he had fixed the roof. He went back into the house, and his mother greeted him with the smell of porridge. He ate slowly and caringly, knowing that food was hard to come by.
A small girl walked in, she had blonde hair and was holding a small stuffed bear. She yawned, "Hullo mommy. Hi Aaron."
I smiled at her, "Hello Jessie."
I finished eating my porridge and dumped it in the sink.
"Aaron, can you go into town for me and buy some bread. I know it's far but I can't just leave you here with Jessie."
"Sure..."
We lived in the mountains, and the village was at the base of it. It was a 6 mile walk. Most days, I made this walk to buy food and other supplies.
***
I was breathing hard, the air was thin on the mountains. I had gone for bread, and some other foods, however I had taken quite a long time, and I was hurrying back.
Under the cover of darkness, is when they liked to hunt.
As I got closer and closer, my heart thumped harder and faster in my chest.
The house came in sight, and although I had lived there for the whole of my life, it looked unwelcoming, it loomed over me, blocking out the sun. The bare trees blocked the path, warning me not to go further.
Of course, I couldn't resist.
I jumped over them, stray branches I knocked away from my face. And soon, I was at the front door.
My hands trembled. For some reason, I already knew that what I wanted to see – my family waiting for me – was not going to happen. And as I slowly inched the door open, I saw a trail of blood leading to the door, someone severely injured had tried to escape, but had failed, because on the stairs, right next to the door, was a corpse.
But not any corpse, it was my little sister. Barely recognizable, her face was half eaten, much like the rest of her body.
Tears dripped down my face, but I held it in, I needed to find out if my mother was OK. Mourning could wait for later.
And steeling my resolve, knowing it was probable that I would have to face The Akuma, I walked in...
***
I knew that my dad had kept his old katana in the cupboard under the stairs. I wrenched it open, the door I had opened had a huge hole in it, like a very large fist had punched through it.
Scanning the cupboard, my hand clenched against the door's edge, my knuckles whiter than snow.
I tossed aside a pile of clothes, and underneath revealed the hilt of my father's katana, I wrapped my hand round it and pulled it out.
My fathers katana looked like it had once been a great sword, but had since fallen into disrepair.
It had a golden hilt, with engravings of dragons in black. The sword itself was long and sharp. It was as thin as paper and looked like it had been a menacing weapon in its prime.
Shifting my focus, I searched the lower floor. If it was still here, it was unlikely it was upstairs since no one had been upstairs and the trail of blood left by my sister did not go upstairs, but deeper into the house on the lower floors.
The blood was a pathway, it was an arrow pointing straight at The Akuma, and I was ready to follow. And so I took one step after another, inching slowly towards my defeat, or, potentially, my hard-earned (and most likely lucky) victory.
