A normal day. That was what it felt like as everyone went about their business, went about their lives. Everyone could be seen, enjoying themselves, having at their usual arguments and drama. The town was bustling with the liveliness of people enjoying themselves, at least as much as they could. There was always the thought in the back of everyone's mind: they were trapped. Inside walls that stood the test of time thus far, walls that were their cage and their tourniquet to a world thought of as apocalyptic.
No longer had wide oceans, snowy terrain and beautiful scenery that filled the lands was a dream, a memory had only by those long departed. Sure, there were books on the land beyond, but what was that compared to what could be seen by the actual eye? As the sun beat down with its illuminating rays, the kids walked about in a fit of joy, kicking about a ball to play with. The adults bickered over food that was "overpriced" and all seemed pleasant. Walking among them without a care either had been Troy. Troy Akerchief. A young man who was without family and well known among the village he lived in, what had been near the entrance to Wall Maria. He was lightly built young man, lean, standing at five ten with short spiky hair and an average sized nose. His lips were thin with widened cheekbones, eyes narrowed a bit with a prominent brow. His hair was a dark color, brown with a light blondish hue nearing the ends. Blue shades with a dash of emerald cascaded along his irises, something that people could almost swear changed in time. He often wore a smile, shown by the ridges across the corners that often expanded. He wore a ragged shirt, long sleeve in a faded brown, slapped over gray pants with light tears across the calves and over to his knees. One could say he was poor, but he never looked at it that way. His view on it changed often but for the most part, he thought of himself as wealthy. Perhaps not in the same ways that others were, but that did not have to be a bad thing. He had no shoes. Instead, he only had sandals with a broken strap on the left which often bugged him. He made a makeshift strap to help keep it on but it only made it worse; after all, he used old, rather rusty nails that were bent at the bottom to keep it in place. What had been troublesome all its own as it usually caused his sandal to get caught onto something.
Troy had a job, but most of the money from that went elsewhere. To orphanages, to beggars on the street. He was often thought of as a saint, which gained him the nickname "Saint Troy." He found it rather silly, but even so it brought a small smile to often spread on his otherwise placid face. His job was ordinarily to care for shops. He went from owner to owner offering his services and was well known for his keen observation and attention to detail. He usually left everything spotless, which made his work constant. Unlike others that tried offering the same for selfish reasoning money wise, he was often proud of his work and kept to the standards offered at the shop, if not higher.
This day, although started off normal, was soon to change. It was something a lot of people felt. The air had a certain thickness about it, a sense of tension. One not often felt, not often looked at as anything but anxiety. At this point most everyone had dismissed it, but he could not. No, it was difficult to do when it was bringing a certain strike at his heart with every passing moment, leaving sweat to bead at his brow and the tip of his nose. He was simply walking along, familiar faces often passing by which garnered a wave from him accompanied by a smile. His pattering steps were muffled, perhaps inaudible in comparison to the chatter and walk of the hundreds of other people. It left him feeling a little out of place, which he could admit happened on a regular basis. At the very least, he could admit it to himself. Needless to say, he never told anyone of this. He didn't exactly have any close friends. Just the opposite, he found himself to be rather lonely and it was perhaps due to his unkempt hair, slight odor or maybe the fact that he was usually too busy to even make proper interraction with anyone.
He decided to finally make a stop, walking over to a food stand. His dragging sandals across the stone paved floor left a light trail as they never truly connected to his heels with every lift of his foot. The aroma of the food dragged him there, smelling of freshly baked bread, the rising dough, the thought of fresh food dipped into his mouth. Ah, he could almost melt from it. As he came upon the stand he smiled to the lady behind it. A soft woman with kind eyes. Her skin was the color of the bread, a golden brown with lips pink enough to brighten one's day. Her eyes, kind as they were, held a brown color. Though he could almost say they had a blue tint around the edges of the iris.
"Hello, good lady." He said in a soft tone, trying to convey a content feeling despite the brewing emotions that were cast along his sinking heart; like a chained anchor was dragging it down. She smiled back at him and offered a small bow of her head, but no words. She simply raised a delicate hand and waved it across the bread. As if she was telling him to pick out his favorite. He flashed a content grin and started darting his gaze between the differing delicacies. Ah, how they danced in the smell of flavor so mouth wateringly good.
"I will take this one." He said with a more apathetic tone at this point. Despite his attempts to convey happiness and a good attitude, the bubbling emotions were trying their best to surface. They left a dying impression planted in the recess of his voice. He was hoping she wouldn't notice and would instead be happy to have a customer. Perhaps she would instead direct her attention to the grumbling of his stomach. A growl that could be described as two cats having a fight in a dark alley. He reached over to one of the soft breads and grasped it with calloused fingers, hoisting it from the pile. His tongue extended, licking across the surface of his somewhat rough lips. They were a bit dry from his lengthy walk, what had been without a drop of water. Even so, he wasn't too far from the next well, from which he could obtain some water to fill his canteen with.
"That will be three coins." She finally spoke, a voice that was sweet with a hint of hardship in an aftertaste toward the end. Her voice held a rasp, gentle but also noticeable. He could almost feel her own emotions, distanced as they were, strumming pangs to his very heart. Still, today was not the day to delve into such things. There were other, far more important tasks in that day and comforting someone whom he did not know was not on the list. He reached with a free hand into his pocket and dug out three coins which he handed to the saleswoman. She gladly took them and offered another bow of her head. He did the same and took to walking to his destination again. Although the fountain was not his true destination, it was a worthy stop along the way.
He moved among crowds of people, often having to dance between bodies that nearly did not offer him any sort of passage. Small gaps that were closing faster than he could move. Amidst such rapid movements he was eating his bread. He took small bites along the first end, taking the fresh bread into his mouth to let the flavors settle into his buds that craved them so. His heart was gladened, as was his stomach. The wheat in the bread was strong, giving off the impression that it was made so perfectly and held with such care and love that his mouth watered at the thought while he ate. A sensation that he better held as ineffable. As he was going to take his next bite, everything changed.
It was sudden and held a terror in everyone's heart. A small tremor, a crash that left quakes at their feet. It was as if time itself had stopped when it happened; a distanced breaking of a wall. They couldn't tell that from the get-go, no, but they instantly knew something was wrong. Trying to calm the citizens, someone yelled out a light-hearted phrase, hoping to ease the idea that was quickly beginning to pass through everyone's head.
"It was probably just an accidental cannon fired somewhere nearby..." Despite his attempt to throw stability into the frightened crowd, he perhaps caused more panic. People began speaking out their own ideas, their own thoughts.
"A titan got through!"
"No, that's impossible! Titans haven't broken through these walls in a hundred years. How could that happen now, so instantly?"
"It was so loud... Is it possible?"
"It had to be some sort of military mistake."
Everyone was beginning to panic. Conversations were flying, making trying to listen an impossibility as everything that was said was incoherent, aside from a few words that were more yelled out than others.
"Titans!" Had been the strongest among the few. He could feel it again, the harsh beats of his anxious heart. His throat grew dry and almost felt as though it swelled up. He did his best to swallow the bits of bread he had chewed so vigorously before, finding it a little hard but eventually coming through with a slow gulp. Everyone slowly grew quiet, trying to listen in. It was hard to tell, but the cries were there, agonizing and accompanied by the tremors of giant feet stomping across the hard stone floor. It broke beneath their weight and made it hard for anyone to try to run away in their vicinity. The floor rocked with each step, like miniature earthquakes that left people reeling.
It had finally come. Everyone knew it in their hearts and in their minds, but they were quickly dismissing the idea, trying their best to deny it. He stepped back and away from the wall, feeling his eyes start to widen. He could hear the screams of people being eaten, the gut-wrenching crunch that followed as teeth pierced through flesh and bone. It made him feel sick, wondering how he could even hear such things over a wall so huge, with sound being so distant. What was visible next was the smoke, like signals of distress that were rising from the village under attack. The dark colored smoke began covering the skies, seen slowly from fires created within the homes ravaged by the Titans. He raised a hand to his chest and gripped at it tightly; his fingers kneading along the dermis to try and grasp his own heart it seemed like. He wanted to feel it, the beat that was there to tell him that he was alive. That he was awake. That it was no illusion. It was rapid, constant and let blood pump through his veins to create adrenaline he was not accustomed to.
The sun that tried its hardest to shine light on this darkening day sheened across his crystaline eyes, leaving a fleeting gleam as they narrowed into a half-lidded gaze. His eyebrows furrowed with a slow exhale to soon pass ajar lips. His head tilted down to give way to shadow which cast over his eyes from his browm as if it was trying to hide their view of such an atrocity. But it was there, the end of a city, the end of a feeling; hope. It was gone like the wall, like their safety. His hand finally descended from its once tight grasp on his chest with a small tremble to follow. He wanted to cry, he wanted to burst out into tears like so many others had with the strong realization that what was happening was not some charade, not some farce but indeed reality. In an instant, everything changed. Their lives would no longer be so casual and friendly, so hopeful and vivid. They would be gray and murky like the sky above them that was being shrouded in clouds of smoke, opaque and leaving their hearts with a desolate displeasure deep inside.
"Everything is over..." He whispered, light with a maudlin tone. That was how he felt, that perhaps was how everyone felt as time was counting down. He could hear the seconds passing, like ticks on a clock within his head. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock. It was only a matter of time now, before their wall was broken through. If the other could be, why not the one that was there to protect them? Still risen, but beginning to drop. To leave behind the ones who could no longer make it, and instead bring despair.