1—Prologue—1
I buried my parents when the dust finally settled.
The sullen glow of the sun masked by thick smoke wasn't my first idea of a funeral setting. Then again, a six foot hole in my backyard that I slaved almost an hour to clear of the rubble and dig up wasn't my first idea of a resting place either. I didn't want to bury them in torn, bloodstained clothes they wore the day prior, but I had no choice. Not like I was gonna go out and buy them nice clothes after what happened. I wanted to clean them up too, but they were about to be covered in dirt anyway, so what did it matter anymore.
At least the howling sirens stopped long enough to give me one last quiet moment with mom and dad.
I didn't cry that day. I was too infuriated to show signs of weakness. Plus, my dad wouldn't want me to. Stay strong, he'd always say. Yet, it hurt to see their mangled corpses in the rubble of our home.
The best I could have done for them was imbed a piece of the wooden fence at the head of the recovered grave. I nailed a small board to the front of it with what I could find in the destroyed garage. Luckily there was still a half a can of blue paint we used to refurnish the bathroom a few years ago still there as well, so I was able to mark their grave.
"Fox & Krystal McCloud"
"Gone — Never Forgotten"
Cheesy, I know, but I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true. It was those little comments that people would say during funerals to cheer the family members up. As imperative and hopelessly cliché as they were, I always believed. God would never be cruel enough to make creation a temporary aspect of his master plan of life. How counterintuitive that would be, to see a departed soul just vanish into nothing. I knew they weren't gone. Yet, as for me seeing them again… I just had to wait my turn.
As if the makeshift marker in the ground wasn't enough, I drove the metallic edge of my spade into the soft earth, forcing it further down by pushing on the edge with my boot. The long wooden handle jutted straight up, gently swaying as I let go. It eventually stopped altogether, leaving me in a still tranquility.
Ironically enough, that's how it all started. Still tranquility. It flipped in an instant. An attack. Unpredicted and unprecedented. Most of all, there was no warning either. Just imagine if there was a warning to this attack just like a warning to a severe storm or gridlocked traffic. My parents would still be alive.
I told them I would stay strong no matter what happened. They made me promise. On my life, I was to never give up hope and always aspire to become whatever it was I wanted to be at the time. No matter the circumstances. Dire circumstances in this case. Unfathomable circumstances, by my definition. Incomprehensible circumstances in the case of everyone else afflicted.
You know how, in some movies, there's a split-second warning for characters to realize something is horribly wrong in order to survive the ensuing attack? I wish life was a movie, because that split-second warning would have been a godsend.
The attacks were too abrupt, though. The bombs fell too quick. The blood spilled too fast. It all came crumbling down in minutes… yet those minutes felt like weeks. The earth itself trembled in fear while the bombs ravaged the entire planet and everything within it, including my… our home.
My dad suggested we live far away from the capital city because of the underlying fear that isolated attacks would compromise the city. Never did he, or anyone for that matter, expect widespread destruction so severe. It was like the innovations in aerospace defense paid little to no part in protecting Corneria. These hostiles, whoever they were, blew right through our defenses as if we had nothing more than a butterfly net encompassing our planet.
To tell the truth, I was scared. Everything was fine up until the attack decomposed society to such an extent that people abandoned civil law in order to gain a foothold in survival. Who was going to enforce laws now of all times? Were cops going to arrest people for looting in the midst of an apocalyptic attack? No, which is why I barricaded myself up during the immediate aftermath; because if the preliminary attack didn't kill me, the aftermath sure would.
Half of my house still stood after the shockwaves reduced most of it into charred debris. My basement still stood, luckily, so I made that my temporary sanctuary until the disbelief finally settled into reality. Damn I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry my eyes out. But I promised my dad I wouldn't cry. I would stay strong.
I wanted answers. Duh, what else would I want besides my parents coming back to life? I wanted to know why they had to die. I wanted to know why this attack happened. Most of all, I wanted to know how I could help seek vengeance on whoever killed them.
I decided a few days later, when I finally regained control of the grief and depression, that I was gonna go out in search for answers. I packed up what I needed; mainly just food, water, tools, other random gear that my subconscious told me I needed, and a few weapons just in case. I knew that the road ahead of me was going to be dangerous, so it felt like common sense to lug along my dad's old blaster from his days as a mercenary. All of that I threw into a backpack, and luckily it didn't appear heavy at first. Clothes weren't an issue; I just wore what I usually wore, and hopefully I could find things along the way.
Before I set off on my aimless journey, I paid one more visit to my backyard, where the sign I drove into the dirt still stood tall, as did my shovel. I fell down to my knees and prayed just like mom always did with me at night. Sure, that was when I was younger, but even at eighteen I still felt a strange sense of comfort praying as she taught me to do. I begged with my entire heart for the both of them to listen, pleaded for them to watch over me and protect me as I sought vengeance for them.
Even though dad told me time and time again to stay strong, that moment of spiritual intimacy with my parents brought me to tears. I finally let my emotions get the better of me, as I knew that my chances of returning to their gravesite was slim to none as soon as I began my journey. I knew that this was the last time I'd be in their company. I cherished the moment despite weeping at the foot of their grave. I said my last goodbyes… well, choked over my last goodbyes, and then left the rubble of my old home behind.
Before I left, I decided that my best bet of finding answers would be Corneria City, even though I knew that the poor city would probably be a pile of rubble when I arrived. Then again, what have I got to lose?
At least that place had an ounce of hope... something I desperately needed.
Thanks to all who tuned in to the introductory chapter of my first story. I'll work to get another chapter out soon, life permitting of course. Feedback is greatly appreciated.
[Sierra]