~In a perfect world~

~𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊~ 10 𝖄𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝕭𝖊𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊

It was a war of such great proportions that it altered the course of thousands of families' lives. A war so massive it affected every inhabitant of the country. A war that essentially brought widespread hunger and starvation to the people. History will forever remember these days as the dark days.

The young girl yelled, "Over there! Maybe we can find something to eat!".

Her voice carried a sense of excitement and longing. Within seconds, the pair dashed to a set of trash bins thrown haphazardly nearby.  Searching for even the tiniest morsel of food, the young children dug and sorted through the mountains of trash. Just as they were stuffing their pockets with whatever food scraps could be found, a loud bark could be heard from behind the trash bins.

In the blink of an eye, a mangy hound had pounced on the boy, knocking him clean off his feet and to the cold, hard ground. A soft thud and a yelp followed the young boy's fall onto the snow-covered concrete. After shielding his face with his arm, the mutt sank its teeth into his thick coat's plush. It wasn't long before the young girl knocked the poor creature over the head with a trash bin, scaring it off for the moment. The boy was certainly shaken from the encounter and his lungs worked rapidly, breathing in gulps of the frigid air around them.

She took the boy's small gloved hand in her own of equal size and helped him back to his feet. The young blonde boy brushed himself off, clearing some of the powdery white snow from his trousers and then jacket.  Just when they thought they were out of trouble, they heard a noise, footsteps... The small girl motioned to a nearby pillar and the two quickly ducked behind it. She gently places her hand firmly onto the boy's shoulder, to provide what little comfort she could in the moment.

When peering around the pole, the pair could spot a tall, lanky, hooded man trudging through the snow below. They eyed him curiously as he approached one of the many bodies lying on the cold, hard ground. Then the tiny young girl, no older than 11 years old, picked up on something they both hadn't yet. In the rough hands of the man, hardened from the war, was an axe...

As soon as the girls' eyes met the blood-splattered blade of the axe the man was carrying as he stood over the deceased, she knew his intent. In a swift motion, the man raised the bloody axe above his head. It was at that moment she removed her hand from his shoulder and instead covered the eyes of the young boy, all the while turning her head away from the scene playing out before them with a shudder. Although their eyes had been diverted, they both caught a glimpse of what had happened... A horrid squelching sound could be heard as the blade of the axe met its target.

"Why is he doing that?" The young boy questioned quietly, confused by the situation but not yet old enough to fully understand the horror of the situation, being around 8 years of age and all.

"Because he's starving..." The small girl replied softly, her hand still clasped firmly over his eyes.

She didn't go into much more detail than that, as if to spare as much of his remaining innocence as she could. The girl knew if they were going to do this, they had to do it now. She uncovers his eyes and speaks.

"I'm going get us home but I need you to listen to me very carefully, alright?" Her tone was stern and held a sense of urgency to it.

The young boy nodded in response as a sign of understanding so the girl continued.

"Good, now I need you to take my hand and hold it tightly, don't let go even for a second."

The boy nodded and took her hand firmly.

"Now when I say, we're going to run straight home, you can't stop no matter what. Whatever happens, you keep running. Oh, and under no circumstances, can you look in the direction of the man. Understood?"

He nodded along, listening intently to what she was saying. The girl took a deep breath and counted down from three. The second she had finished the pair bolted in the direction of their abode. Despite the girl's clear instructions, the young boy couldn't help but steal one last glance at the man before being dragged through the doors of their home. What he saw horrified him, it was such a vile sight to behold, and for a boy as young as himself, who couldn't even fully comprehend it, it was just plain awful...

The poor boy barely had time to process what had just happened before he was whisked away into another room. Upon entering the room the pair were met with the sight of their grandmother sitting on a mahogany dining chair, dressed up nicely as per usual, at the table. Two soldiers dressed in all green also stood present in the room. They were quite intimidating, especially to the young boy. One of the men handed her her cane and she stood up from her chair. As per usual, she wasted no time in speaking as bluntly as ever in her words.

"Your father is dead Coriolanus."

These words should've hit him like a ton of bricks. He was just an eight-year-old boy faced with hunger and war, on the borderline of starvation. Now he was an orphan all of a sudden. Despite the weight of these words, the boy remained completely unaffected... His expression was stoic as she continued.

"It was a rebel they say. A trap out deep in the forests of twelve."

She reaches down and places a small round, golden-framed object into the gloved palms of the young boy. The boy looked down and examined the small object carefully. It seemed to be a compass of some sort.

"It's up to us now to make him proud."

The unfeeling eyes of the young boy drifted upward, landing on a carefully constructed stain-glass portrait of his father. He stared into the dull blue eyes of his father and it almost felt as if his father was staring back down at him in the moment. At that moment, what he remembered about his father, was his deep voice and his cold eyes filled with nothing but layers of hatred.