December 14th, 2010
Crocus, Fiore

I was looking for him: the man with the bright red hair. My real father.

For as long as I can remember, I lived with my mother and my older brother, who was four years older than I was. It was a rather peaceful time, now that I look back upon it.

My father was the only one who wasn't in the picture yet, I knew who he was. When I turned ten, my mother showed me a picture once of when our family was together.

The bright red hair was what caught my eye. It was long bright red hair in a low ponytail and a powerful grin on his face. My mother claimed that I got my smile from him.

For the rest of that year, I was desperate to meet him. My brother noticed this and he supported my decision to convince Mom to take us to meet our father.

I was turning eleven that day.

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I could've never imagined that it wouldn't go to plan.

Pain was something I could never tolerate.

The screams my brother and I made as we started to fall out of the sky.

SLICE

Blood splashed across my brother's face.

My blood.

SLICE

More blood.

I can't breathe. Am I drowning or falling? I can't tell.

It was probably the most painful thing that an eleven year old could ever take in his life.

And there was so much blood...

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In the end, I got to meet him: In pieces.