NA: The chapters will be split into "then" and "now". it'll take a look into Eren's past and future and will switch every chapter.

This story neither begins nor ends happily.

The world still spins, a single event doesn't stop the evolution of time.

It may create a ripple in the water; that's how life works.

One day, the hope my mind takes refuge in may not exist anymore.

But the sun always sets in the West.

And that is one thing I can always rely on.

xxx

The first snowfall of 2006 took place on a chilly day in mid November. The children around me had gloves to warm their chilly fingers, colourful jackets that served as armor against the sharp sting of the cold against bare skin. Some kids looked overjoyed about the snow, glancing up at the falling flakes and squealing (more like shrieking, honestly) once the small white web landing on their red cold bitten nose as if they've never experienced this weather before. There were others who looked to me like Penguins, waddling around because they cold seemed to have frozen them, or perhaps they looked like a turtle; with their necks retracted into their coat. Overall, some were grumpy, others were overjoyed. Then there was me. I was only worrying about the snow getting into the trailer through the hole in the roof. Because I could very much doubt that my mom had covered it up like she had claimed to do countless amounts of times before.

But I was forgiving, because I was only nine years old at the time, and I hadn't even realized why my mother was so inconsistent day in and day out. Maybe she is tired - I would think - she is always tired.

Now because it was home time (school had been over for maybe five minutes, the snow had distracted myself along with many other kids) I started to do my own waddle over to the overly bright yellow school bus. It must have been quite new, I was proud of my neighbours for being able to afford such a large vehicle. But I was also proud of myself, for becoming friends with the bus drivers uncle. Because now I had a ride to school. I didn't have to suffer the walk on such cold days.

"Afternoon Mr. Arlert. Is this a new bus? It smells new," I inquired with curiosity that could be sniffed out from a field away. "Looks new too. the colour isn't so orange anymore. I like it, thank you for the ride," Then my butt made friends with the (leather, was it?) of the first row seat. It was reserved especially for me, behind Mr. Arlert, so I could speak with him as he drove. Sometimes he wouldn't answer, though, so I answered for him in my head as I did when mom didn't reply. Adults just didn't seem to like to converse for some odd reason. "Armin wasn't here today. Is he sick? That's too bad, maybe I'll walk over later, I feel like my wiggly tooth is about to fall out. I'd like to show him,"

And because Mr. Arlert was not driving at the moment since most kids still had not boarded the bus, he had replied with a slightly gruff sounding voice. "Mhm. Poor boy's caught the flu," With that said, the last few children boarded the bus and Mr. Arlert let the bus's engine roar to life, conquering any conversations anyone was having in the vehicle.

The ride back home was always an adventure to my child mind, when I wasn't speaking to Mr. Arlert, my attention was out the window. Every day something new was on the side of the road; a new weed, or a rock had been overturn, maybe a dead animal laid in the street, but something always was different. That was what I could count on during these drives home. When the bus sped over a pothole, I sometimes jumped from my seat and that sent thrilling butterflies to my stomach. It was always so excitable, always the best time of the day.

As opposed to that, the worst part of the day was hopping off the bus (after thanking and waving to Mr. Arlert of course) and walking through the grassy field to my trailer home. It was quite small, only had three rooms: a kitchen, living room, and a bedroom. The smell was already registered as normal to my nose, but if a stranger had walked in their noses would scrunch up in disgust at the stench. Mom was always in her room, the door never locked though. I would creak open the door just wide enough for my small body to fit through and I'd fly up onto the bed as if I were Peter Pan, landing on the semi soft mattress that was bare of blankets and only held my mom on top.

Her hair was pulled over her right shoulder (or so I thought, I still hadn't gotten down my directions at the time) in a messy side pony tail. At one point it might've been neat, but it was frizzy then, some of her hair at come loose of the rubber band used to make the pony tail. Mom would never look directly at me unless I crawled over to her and looked into her eyes. Sometimes she sat at the edge of the mattress, but sometimes she laid back on it as she was this day.

"Ma, it's snowing outside. Come and catch the snow on our tongues with me," She didn't give me a response until I grabbed her bony hand and dragged her out of bed. Once her feet were on the ground there was no stopping her, mom was out the trailers door without me. Easily I caught up with her uneven steps, and we were both standing under the fall of the snow. "Isn't it nice mom?"

"It's nice," And that was the only response from her I'd get for the day, the dry sound of a voice that seemed so unfamiliar, though familiar at the same time. At that moment, when I was nine, I hadn't realized the shell of a person my mother had become. I only thought she was always tired.

When later that evening I had murmured to my mom that I was hungry, she put a frozen pancake in the microwave and I ate it joyously. Regularly mom never made me food. Only on occasion, when she wasn't so /tired/.