Sunlight peeks over the large stretch of the city coloring the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink. A group of people sit on the roof of the capital building staring out across the horizon at the sunrise. They're dirty and sweaty and each one stares at the awakening sun with a mix of exhaustion and contempt. One girl stands, climbing on top of the ledge still facing the sunrise. She takes a deep breath in before turning to face the audience before her. Eyes are all trained on her as she opens her mouth to speak.

"Many of you know the story of what happened yesterday. You know we fought hard and lost many in the brutal war and yet, because of this war most of you were not fully informed of what took place and why. Because of this I believe it is my duty to tell you how the war started and how we got to where we are now and the best way to do that is to tell you my story from beginning to end."

With that statements she plops back down on the roof back supported by the ledge and begins to weave her tale.

My memories of my childhood are a mix of blurry, faded, images and incoherent words. One of the only clear memories I have is of the fire. The intensity of the event is burned so thoroughly and vividly into my brain that I don't think I'll ever be able to escape it. It truly is the definition of trauma. I believe because of this event, this trauma, I will always loathe fire.

Somedays as I would lay in my bed listening to the small quiet chimes of the clock in the passageway to the dorms and slowly drift in to sleep, there were days where I could still smell the burning of the pine wood mixed with the rancid and sickening odor of scorched flesh. I can still feel the blazing heat of the flames as it creeps closer and closer to my uncovered skin. But those nights are not the worst, the worst nights are the times when I can hear them. The nights when I can hear the tortured screams of the innocent souls, burning alive.

In the beginning I didn't know where these images came from. I had no idea as to what caused me to remember this intense heat or what became the starter for this overwhelming wave of grief that would touch me in the night. All I had was the small snippets of dreams, nightmares, and a soft quiet voice whispering in my ear, as fragile and unpredictable as the wind. But now that I know everything I sometimes wonder if maybe it was better being naive, ignorant to the more dangerous parts of my already dark and bleak life. Even so, I know I would never go back to the way things were before, before the explosion, before the end of everything I once knew, before them. It's because now I'm wiser, I'm stronger, and now I remember. That day I promised myself, I will never feel helpless, never feel useless, and I will never forget. Not again.