Prologue
-
Dull and lifeless eyes scanned the lively streets with disinterest. The little child's hair was disheveled, their coal-black clothing wrinkled and rumpled. Anyone who caught a glimpse of the stoic child would throw pity glances at said child. It was obvious, if the choice of color was of any indication, they were mourning.
It was sad, really but there's nothing they can do to help the youngster. All they can do was pray that no other would go through what they've been through.
The mourning child wasn't oblivious. They realize what those stares mean. They know and they hated it. It took all their might to not break down.
With weak and languid footsteps, the black-cladded child trudged across the tatami mat towards the chabudai. A lonely picture frame glaring at the child atop the table.
In the picture displayed a women and two spitting images of her. A young boy with short, unkempt hair and you. They were all smiling broadly.
Your father died at a young age due to his 'work'. He was a hero. You never met him but from the stories your mother told you, you knew he was a great man.
Sorrow and anguish flooded your mind. You not only had lost your father figure but your mother and only sibling.
You lost your childhood in a snap of a finger. Just like that it's gone. Your family. Naivety. Emotions. Gone.
(A/N)
Idk if I will continue this tbh. It's been sitting at my draft for ages and I decided to publish it to see if anyone's really interested in this?
