Stories of the Past

How I lost Them All

Liam's PoV

Tim sits across from me, peacefully munching on his toast, a content smile on his face. Dad is next to me with Mum beside Tim, ruffling his hair with a cheeky grin. Cameron walks out of his room, slightly hunched over and his hair a mess as he attempts at rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Morning all," he greets, his voice still interlaced with the remnants of sleep.

"Morning, Cameron. There's breakfast there if you want to join us?" Mum offers, gesturing towards the kitchen where breakfast materials litter the benchtops.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks Mum," he replies, going over to the kitchen and rummaging around.

"So, what do you plan on doing all day?" Dad asks, looking at me with his soft grey eyes that I inherited.

"Well, I was wondering if Tim wanted to go and pet the sheep?" I tell him. "Maybe play some Monopoly after? I know it's Tim's favourite."

"Yeah! Mummy, can we please see the sheeps? Please please please?" Tim begs Mum, giving her the puppy dog eyes. Mum laughs at the exuberant four year old, shaking her head a bit as she looks at Dad.

"I'm fine with it. Richard?"

"As long as you boys are careful with those little lambs. They get hurt easily," he warns.

Tim nods excitedly, I'm kind of surprised that his head isn't falling off his shoulders. "We promise!"

"That's okay, then," Dad says, smiling gently. Tim and I usually go out to pet the sheep, sometimes rolling around in the mud with the pigs as well. We own all the animals; Mum and Dad are the farmers for the village that we live near.

"Yay! Thanks Liam!" Tim exclaims with a mouth full of food.

"Timmy, we've told you this before, please, don't talk with your mouth full," Mum tells him.

"Sorry, Mummy," he mumbles.

"It's quite alright sweetie," she replies, kissing him on the cheek.

"It's no problem at all, Tim-Tam," I respond to his earlier statement. We eat the rest of our breakfast before I chase Tim back to our shared bedroom, the little boy squealing as he runs away. We get ready, me having to force Tim to put a jacket on. It's quite cold outside this early in the morning. I pull my own jacket on, slipping my arms through the sleeves, when I hear the sound of the front door opening, new, previously unheard voices infiltrate through our bedroom door.

Tim rushes out of the room before I can. I run out into the living area to see Cameron already in front of Tim, his iron sword gleaming in the morning sunlight, strength emanating from him, but I can see his hands shaking, a fear in his eyes that I've never seen before in my older brother. Dad clashes against two other people, as does Mum, their swords like flashes of metal. People advance towards Cameron, two soldiers attacking him, Tim crying behind him as he watches his brother and parents.

A man with curly brown hair and orangey-brown eyes spots me standing in the entrance to the hallway. His eyes narrow and an evil smirk stretches across his face, fear churning in me. "I want that one and the youngest," he states, pointing at me. Two people come over to me, and I kick and claw and lash out at them, but my seven year old strength is useless against the burly men that remind me of bears. They easily restrain me, grabbing my arms and forcing me to my knees.

I writhe around, screaming for my parents, my brothers; my family. A woman has Tim thrown over her shoulder, his body limp and seemingly lifeless. "Liam! Tim!" Cameron cries out, realising the young boy has been taken when he was thrown to the ground. He cuts through someone else, the person falling to the floor, but a man sneaks up behind Cameron.