Tokyo. I have dreamed of coming here my whole life. When I was very young, my parents worked alongside fellow environmentalists and animal behaviorists, traveling all over the world. I was too young to go with them, so I was slowly raised by my grandmother on my mother's side. My grandfather tragically died, fighting during the war. My parents kept in touch through phone calls and video chats where such luxuries were available. When they were in the dense wilderness, they would right letters and send me gifts. Occasionally they would return home to the states close to my birthday and Christmas so we could spend time together. I loved my parents very much and I know they loved me just as much. I was ten years old when Grandmother and I received devastating news.

We were coming home from the local market when we saw a police officer standing on the front porch, his police hat respectfully removed from his head. His face had a somber look and my grandmother quickly took hold of my small hand as we approached him. When he voiced his apologies, Grandmother broke down into sobs. Crying loudly and begging the man for it not to be true. He held her when she was about to collapse as the sobs grew to frantic screams. I never saw my grandmother react like that and I was confused. That's when I noticed another officer, a woman with her hair up in a tight bun and a sad look in her eyes as she spotted me. She knelt in front of me, tucking a lock of auburn curls behind my ear before she spoke in a soft mothering voice. I wondered if she, too, had small children.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry but..." she paused, feeling her voice crack a bit but she bravely continued to break the news to me gently, "Your parents are gone. They will not be coming home."

I tilted my head, then looked between my distraught grandmother who was still sobbing into the male officer's arms and back to the woman in front of me. I saw her eyes had began to water as well and I started to connect the pieces. Grandmother had finally calmed down a bit after we were inside our living room and the two officers explained what had happened.

"Mr. and Mrs. Blackhart were on their way home to the states from a trip in Japan when their plane crashed into the ocean near a pacific island." It was the man this time. I remembered his name was Officer Stevens.

"Your daughter and son-in-law were very much loved in our small community and were respected greatly for what they did. We like to think they died in the line of duty."

My parents were dead. They were coming home for my birthday. I stared at the floor, clutching my stuffed wolf I received two Christmases ago from my parents when they were in Canada following a pack of timber wolves.

"The plane crash is still under investigation. Our community and most of America loved your family, however other societies were not fans. Some felt threatened and disrespected as they were told how to live in a country the Blackharts were not from," the kind female officer, Officer Collins explained.

Hours went by before the two police officers left our small cottage home, expressing their condolences and wishing to help in any possible way. I haven't cried at all from receiving the news and I wondered what was wrong with me. I was told my parents were dead and never coming back and I have yet to shed a single tear. I looked to my grandmother, who sat in her rocker. Her face had grown pale, a somber look in her eyes as she looked at a picture on the end table beside her. It was a picture of my parents and me shortly after I was born. We were at a zoo, seated within a wolf exhibit where a wolf had made itself comfortable laying in front of us. I had not been looking at the camera like my parents but instead at the wolf, its bright white fur inches from my tiny fingers. I don't remember that day almost at all but as I pet my toy wolf, I can almost imagine it being that very wolf in the picture. Its fur much softer than the artificial hair this toy was covered in.

Five years had passed since my parents' deaths and my grandmother had not been the same. It was like she aged ten years every year. Her dark hair that I remembered brushing had turned an ugly gray. Her pale skin now littered with spots and held an ashy color. Her bright green eyes that I had inherited from her and my mother, now are very dull and hold no joy. She had been very active when I was younger, always willing to go on walks and bicycle riding when I asked. She would even give me piggy-back rides through the market if I asked nicely. Now all she did was rock in her rocking chair, a quilt draped over her lap. She was incredibly thin, and her skin hung from her body. She refused to eat anything I would make for her and I was scared I would lose her. It was when I was at school, that I got the news.

The principal called me to the office during one of my math classes and when I walked into the office, I instantly recognized Officer Stevens and Officer Collins. It was then I broke. I didn't cry when I was ten and found out my parents died, but I balled and sobbed until I couldn't breathe when the words about my grandmother hit me. Officer Collins was the one to hold me as I hugged her tightly. My grandmother was gone. I was told she passed peacefully in her sleep, but I know how she really died. She died of a broken heart. She first lost her husband in a war that was not his choice to fight in. Then she lost her only child, her daughter, in tragic plane accident that also took her son-in-law. I unfortunately looked too much like my mother and grandfather, so she had always told me. She couldn't handle having only a look alike instead of the real thing.

Between the inheritance of my parents and my grandmother, I had a substantial amount of money to live off of. However, being my parents' daughter, I donated a lot of it to the environmental and animal behavior groups my parents had created and were apart of. The rest I kept in a savings account. Once the funeral was done for my grandmother, I left for the only home I knew. It was so cold. Dust had begun to collect on everything my grandmother held dear. It took me a week to pack everything away that reminded me of her and my parents. I couldn't bare to sell the small cottage. Instead, I had two copies of the house key made and gave each one to the two officers that had helped me through my grandmother's passing. I asked them to look after the house for me. The had asked where I was going, and I explained I was going to finish where my parents had stopped. Japan.

So here I am, standing in the middle of a small flat where the kitchen, living room and bedroom are all the same room. When I said small flat, I meant small flat. I had packed only what I would need which was everything in my bedroom back home. Tomorrow I would begin my first day as the transfer student to a Japanese High School. I had taken Japanese language classes when I was ten after my parents died so I was pretty fluent.

When I was applying for the flat, the lady at the agency almost didn't believe me when I told her it was just me. She didn't understand why a fifteen-year-old was applying by herself for a flat to live in. She reluctantly accepted my application when I told her I would pay in full, with cash. I now own this flat. I cannot be forced out by any landlord. I stretched and yawned, looking at the time and realized it was after midnight. I turned to my small bed and plopped down on my stomach.

"Well, might as well turn in. Tomorrow is going to be a start of a new life for me," I softly say to myself. I set my alarm to five-thirty, making sure I give myself plenty of time for a shower and breakfast. I turn to my side, looking out the large and only window to gaze at the full moon against the black sky. I clutch my toy wolf close to my chest, closing my eyes.

"I hope we can finally be happy, Timber," I softly whisper to my toy before falling into a restless sleep.

Hello Everyone!

I have began a new story that I hope you all will enjoy! Please let me know what you all think!

~Myla