Bad Boy Prisoner

Shattered

Shame my dream turned nightmare. I watched my mom and dad die, over and over. I woke up with a cold sweat. I decided to let today be my yearly cry.

Before mother died, she said not to cry to much after she was gone, so I just cried one day a year, as a memorial and deathiversary. I had another day for my father. Dang. Crying makes my face cold.

I curl up in the corner, my hands around my knees, where my head lay. I heard foot steps and looked up. I saw a little boy, who looked about five, dressed in simple clothing, and surrounded by at least twenty guards.

His blue eyes and blonde hair shivered with nervousness. Was that a bit of black hair under all that blond? I looked again but it was gone.

He seemed out of place amongst them, yet somehow you still get the feeling that if you don't want to die, don't mess with him. One of them steps forward as I sit, kneeling as far as my cage would allow.