Gone

They say that memories last forever, sometimes they're, or sometimes they're completely
wrong. I've watched fighting between families, I've watched poverty and sickness take over the land, but nothing like watching the people you love never return.

I've been on my own since I turned 14. My parents, the greatest parents, were killed in a fire that seemed to take my whole world.

The memory of the fire still haunts me to this day. Before my parents died, they were going to tell me about my family's history. They has never told me about any of our family history no matter how much I pleaded and begged. During the fire, right before my father rushed into the burning building, my father handed me a charred brown leather journal. I did realize at the time, but it would be the last thing that I would've gotten from my parents before they died.

It seemed like the sun was setting on my parents' lives, but my time didn't rise. It was like living in eternal darkness, where time didn't pass and all I could do was sit and mourn. That was six years ago.