The sirens came late at night. As the planes jetted through the sky the misty clouds scattered. Every few seconds you could hear the crumble of buildings, but all I noticed was my heavy breathing. I carried my brother on my hip, his weight only slowing me slightly for now. The dew that covered ground was my biggest worry, if possible. The grass was sticky and slippery; with every few steps I slid. I could not see, but felt the pounding flames behind me. They illuminated the night, offering some help with their destruction. My hands fumbled with the knob. Not to soon my father helped me open the door and we dove in.

The lamp shook.

The ground trembled.

I kept whispering it's going to be okay to my brother, but I don't know if I was helping. He clung tighter to me with every big bang.

With no windows or clocks we sat in silence. I guessed early morning when the bombs finally slowed. We waited until the coast was clear before stumbling out of the shelter. I wished I couldn't see what horror laid before me. I wished I had closed my eyes, but curiosity of who could do this took over. I looked from the crumpled buildings lying in a heap to the now perfectly buried park. Charred and smoking bread lay on the ground from the bakery, being run over by our neighbors. Or they used to be neighbors.

My mom put one protective arm around me and Jacob (now on my back). I watched as my dad confronted a stranger. You could tell he just arrived, his clean suit not yet touched by the floating dust. His hair was sleek and black, stopping short off his ears. He wore useless sunglasses, for the sun was just starting to peak over. The sun trying to reach out to our destroyed homes. It was trying to shed light on this dark day, trying to give hope to the families.

But the sun is late. Oh so late.

My father and the new man exchanged words, nodding every few sentences. I wanted to leave with the rest of the townsfolk, to shout hurry up, but I remained frozen. It seemed to be hours by the time my father returned.

Tears pulled at the corner of his eyes. Dad took my hand and my mom the other. Jacob, I think, knew what was happening. He held tighter to me than he ever had.

We were led to the man's shiny black jeep. It seemed to repel dirt, the only thing that remained of my home. I gazed at the swirling dust clouds, hoping this was just a dream. A bad dream.

The temptation to burst out crying, to let myself fall to my knees, to admit I wasn't strong enough hung over my shoulders. My dad passed me my stuffed elephant, the one thing saved from the wreckage. Today, at the age of fifteen, I looked too old for it. Today I didn't care. It was the only thing that held me on the ground.

No words of encouragement were passed by our parents. No more tears were shed by our parents. They were trying to look brave, to be a role model.

Sometimes crying is what you need though. Something they struggle to understand.

I let Jacob soak my tee-shirt with damp, salty tears as we drove away. I didn't want to admit it, but I knew this was to be the last day we saw our mom and dad.

~~~~Authors Note~~~~

I've been wanting to write this story for years, but could never find the right setting for it. I hope this one works! Please comment on what you think it would be deeply appreciated!

I am sorry to say that I will not be posting chapter 1 until April 22nd, 2014. I hope you will stick around!

-Mads