At the end of the road, a small, dirty blonde haired girl sat down on the tar.
Her curls sat messily at the bottom of her back, and her once-life-filled blue eyes were now a dull, lifeless grey.
The pink dress she wore that her step-mother brought t...
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I remember when I was little.
I remember it so well that if I recall my memories, I can retrace my steps right back to the beginning, when everything was perfect and I was sure of what was going on and why.
I remember when mom was around to tell me what was happening, and most importantly - why.
I never understood things on my own - and I still don't - but she was the one person I felt I could rely on.
Her, and dad.
Dad was always stable, and provided everything I could ever need. Things like food on our table, a roof over our heads, and clothes on our backs - something that we never cherish until we loose it.
I remember when those things disappeared. When they were there the one moment, and then the next - they were gone, without even a trace that they were once there in the first place or even to where they had disappeared to.
I remember who's fault it was - who's fault it was when everything I had ever loved and cherished disappeared right before my very eyes.
His name was Vincent, a former friend of Dad's. I remember sitting on the porch when I first met him.
He was tall, dark haired, ominous and, well - shady.
That's all I remember, as well as the fact that he always smelt like smoke - cigarette smoke to be exact.
I always found it so strange. I mean, he smelt of smoke - yet I knew that he himself never smoked. This was - of course - something that everyone else overlooked, a tiny detail that only a six year old child would pay attention to.
Well, that was at least what I thought.
I remember waking up on my seventh birthday to find Mom, hunched over - her face buried in her hands, sitting at our rickety wooden table in the kitchen.
For the next couple of weeks, people in blue uniforms, protective black shoes and strange hats were in and out our house.
I remember being fascinated with their gold badges - their badges of all things. While my entire world was falling apart around me - I was oblivious and fascinated by golden badges.
At the time - I didn't know what was happening - or why, and it was only the beginning of my confusion.
I was scared and alone, and it was only January.
I had an entire year of chaos ahead of me.
When things had finally settled down, (3 months after I had turned 9 years old.) we received a knock on the door. I remember looking at the clock in our room. 11:37. Who could it be?
My mother had been in fight mode, as only a month before our car had been hijacked.
I remember asking my mother why the men were wearing all black in the middle of summer, and saying: "I hope they don't burn up in the heat".
She had been crying.
But of course, I couldn't grasp the reason for her tears. All I knew was that when I fell and scraped my knee, I cried.
My mother had crept down the stairs with a bat in hand as she peered through the peephole to see who was outside.
It was the blue soldiers again.
I had crept down the stairs after mother, and watched what was happening from the staircase.
The blue soldiers had taken off their hats and made a sympathetic face as they gestured towards the table and chairs.
