Antonio wasn't one much for politics or global struggles. He leaded a simple life and his thinking process was often the same: simple. And so, it made sense as to why he could never understand anything that was going on around him. His home country of Spain was stubbornly planted in the middle of a civil war. And if he knew anything about it, it was that everyone was extremely opinionated. So much so that he watched friendships and families tear apart on the streets just because of a difference in views.

On more than one occasion he had been asked on what side he proudly identified with and each time he answered the same, "I don't know." Many peoples had gotten angry and spat in his face. Others were confused as to why, and he simply explained that he didn't understand. He heard many stories from people on either side and he could tell many were biased. It was hard to tell what was true and what was a lie. The whole ordell was messy and both sides seemed to have pros and cons, but again, he didn't know what was real or not. So instead of getting involved, he vowed to himself he'd stay out of it, keep his head down, and try to live.

People thought that to be the worst thing to do. "How could you just ignore your own dying country when it needs you most!" they would scream. But Antonio thought it better to leave an ignorant mind outside of the struggle of war, otherwise it would only cause more problems. He didn't want to make matters worse in any way.

Antonio was living in the outskirts of Barcelona in 1936 with a kind family who took him in when the war began. He had been living with this couple and their daughter for a few months as he was traveling throughout the country back to where his parents lived in Madrid. When the news struck the radios then Antonio's ears he immediately packed up his things, but only the bare necessities. He needed to travel lightly and back home to his own family. But he left to no avail as panic and the start of numerous bombings pushed him back to the small home several times. They insisted in Antonio staying with them longer, just until things died down, sadly ignorant and unknowing of the three long years ahead of them, and Antonio agreed.

Soon, he joined many who had come from Castile a few years prior to work in the few Catalan factories that were in Barcelona. He personally didn't care if working in this factory made it seem he was taking a stand on a side, he just needed to work. He felt all too guilty sitting at home, watching as poor mother cooked up small portions and the father came home absolutely beat everyday. He became stir-crazy and quickly found a job simply by squeezing in through the factory doors along with all of the other tired and hopeless workers.

Antonio swore he looked like he was the youngest man there. He was firmly in his way-early twenties and wasn't even sure if he was allowed to work there but when the employers walked by him, they said nothing. He still wasn't so sure what his job was. Every so often a box of little metal trinkets he assumed were apart of a much bigger machine were dropped off at his little table. It was his job to clean them. Or at least, he thought it was. On his first day he was given a small rag and a bucket of either water or polish, regardless, it didn't smell good. By the end of the day, the bucket of mystery liquid was either a gross-looking brown or black. He was instructed to dump it outside and put away the bucket before he left.

This cycle of waking up before the sun and going to work in a hot, cramped, and smelly factory building without any breakfast continued for months and months on end and a little past a year. Hunger was a feeling everyone felt every part of the day and when the bosses called for a break on the exhausted, everyone spent the time praying for the feeling of a full stomach.

Antonio was completely dazed by this point but he was at least glad he could contribute some money to the kind still family that has given him a bed all this time. And to lessen his guilt more, he offered to teach their daughter as well. Though education was something any child could still obtain, her mother was too afraid to let her leave the house without her. She was worried. Hell, she was scared for Antonio any time he left for work, as well as her husband, of course. So, with her daughter without a proper education, Antonio offered and she gladly accepted. Now, Antonio was nothing close to a teacher and he wasn't sure what she would be learning at her young age of six, but regardless he still grabbed a crayon of hers and wrote a small list of things he could teach her on the back of an old box. Neither one of them wanted to waste a single piece of precious drawing paper.

Each day, when he returned home, he sat on the living room floor with daughter Natalie and reminded her of the list he wrote on the first day. It consisted of easy little things like: reading a little, writing a little, counting, singing and the works. Antonio hoped that this list was good enough for her and to his delight, after a few days, everything soon became a review for her. She learned quickly, and it baffled him. When they quickly ran out of old newspaper articles for them to read together, Antonio would sometimes come home with a page or two of a magazine or paper he swiped off of his boss' desk when he wasn't looking.

But their daily routine soon came to a screeching halt as one day, their music lesson was brutally interrupted when a certain bombing sounded all too close, shaking the walls of their small home. Mother yelped and father instinctively grabbed her and Natalie while Antonio rushed to catch falling picture frames and vases before they hit the ground. It resembled an earthquake all too well as the deafening noises followed one another too quickly, shaking the earth under them unforgivingly. Antonio already had cuts on his hands from a few frames that he had been a little too late in saving and the glass paying him back for it.

When the shaking seized and the noises faded away, everything became sickeningly still. All that could be heard was Natalie's frightened and muffled cries and Antonio's jagged breathing. All that could be felt was everyone's dizziness and Antonio's shaking hands. He swallowed then lightly shook his head as a familiar ringing started in his ears. He stumbled over to the kitchen to look out the window and in the distance all that could be seen was smoke. He coughed a little just looking at it.

When he returned into the living room he saw a terrified Natalie cuddled into her mother's lap, who held onto her for dear life. Her husband hugged them close, stroking his wife's hair softly, still recovering himself from the shock. Antonio didn't know what to say, so he opted to stay silent. Ignoring his bleeding hands, he bent over and continued to gently pick up the pieces of broken glass, throwing them away before organizing everything on the ground instead of it's rightful place back on the shelf. He thought it better for everything to stay there, just in case.

Antonio was more afraid than ever before to go to work that following morning. He was extra reluctant to get up that morning and when he finally did he felt a chill run down his spine. It didn't go away even as he walked through the same gates he did every morning. He noticed as his fellow coworkers seemed increasingly tense and shaky all throughout the day. Instead of praying during the break, murmurs sounded as each man quietly whispered to the one next to him. No one whispered to Antonio, which he thought strange.

By the end of the day, his hands ached like always and Natalie greeted him at the door as she always did, but with a much more serious expression in place of her usual smile. He worried himself crazily as she lead him into the living room without even letting him wash his hands. And with a heavy heart she refused to accept the piece of newspaper he brought home for her and him to read together, like they always did.

"Antonio," she said with a stuffy nose.

"Natalie," he said back.

"I don't think you should live with us anymore…" Natalie spoke with a shaking voice.

"What?" Antonio almost chuckled.

"Because anytime we're around you, bad things happen! It's not good for you to be around us anymore!"

"Oh Natalie," he smiled wryly. "Your family has nothing to do with what's going on in Spain right now."

Natalie looked conflicted and she played with a loose thread on the hem of her dress. Abruptly, she asked what was really going on and Antonio was at a loss for words. It was hard to explain war to a child when you didn't quite know what was going on yourself. But before he could say anything anyway, her father entered the room. He quickly sauntered over to where the two were sitting.

"Oh Natalie, I told you to say nothing," he said to her, picking her up gently and placing her on his lap after he sat down next to Antonio.

"Sir?" he asked, slightly confused.

"Natalie overheard us talking the other night… silly girl," he smiled briefly before he cleared his throat, regaining his seriousness. "Antonio, we both know conditions are… getting worse and worse. We were concerned, for you and your own family."

"My own family?" again, he was puzzled.

"We can see it on your face. You must be so incredibly worried for your parents, siblings… right?" This time Antonio was silent, and he swallowed. "You don't have to go if you want to, but I have a feeling you really want to see your mother."

Antonio's gaze faltered and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his chin resting in his hands. He had to think. It was almost impossibly selfless that they were willing to push him home when he managed to bring home a decent amount of the income. They'd struggle without him, but he knew that if they thought they couldn't handle it, they'd say something. A family like this one was so kind to him and leaving, of course, would be painful. Although, they were right again in knowing how much he longed to see his mother's face again.

Natalie and her father waited patiently as Antonio slowly made up his mind, carefully going over everything in his head. When he sat up unexpectedly he looked stronger than he sounded as he nodded gently and turned to them to say: "I do really miss them…"

And Natalie's father declared, patting Antonio on the back, that he would leave tonight. And that he did. Just moments before he left, Natalie's mother cooked up a nice dinner for everyone and gave him his last pay check back as a parting gift, which did nothing to settle his guilt. Antonio dressed in light layers, trying to wear the majority of his clothes so he wouldn't have to carry them all. His bag was worn from travels past but yet very trustworthy and slung over his right shoulder. Gloves and boots accompanied his rather rough looking outfit. Bitter sorrow of leaving these amazing people behind panged with the excitement of travel and home.

Their goodbyes didn't last too long, although Natalie tried her best to make her hug last as long as an eternity, as if that would give Antonio enough time to change his mind. Even though she knew in her heart of hearts that he had to leave, she sure was going to miss him.

"I'm still going to follow our list," she mumbled into his shoulder, almost being totally engulfed in his arms.

"Good… I'm glad," he said back softly.

"And I'll read a lot too..! I'll write stuff for you to read when you come back as well… I promise, 'tonio ," the little girl hiccuped which made his gut twist in an ugly way.

"I can't wait," Antonio said back dryly, starting to let go.

"Counting the seconds," Natalie said before slowly and regretfully pulling away from his warm hug.

As Antonio stood, he towered over Natalie, as he often always did and bid his short goodbyes to her parents. And when he turned away and walked out of the front door like he did every morning, he felt just as if he was going to work, but instead of turning right in the fork in the road, he continued straight. That simple action gave him a headache. With the unpredictable feeling still lingering in the air, he didn't dare trust public transportation, so any time he wasn't walking, he'd hitchhike. It wasn't too popular. So mostly, he walked, making his feet scream every second of the day for a place to sit down. Whenever he did travel, it was typically by foot anyways. He was proud enough to say that he's gone to almost every place in Spain there was to be. And he always walked there.

Antonio had been traveling for several weeks and yet the people around him never grew more or less unforgiving. He did, however, meet a grumpy little boy who was very mad at the fact that Antonio hadn't taken better care of his shoes and gave him his bike. He was eternally grateful but the little boy insisted and refused to hear any thanks, shooing him away and onto the road once more. But this time, with a bike.

He traveled on with this new found help and new found excitement for his family. He traveled on for several more weeks, added up to about a month and a half since he left Natalie and her family in Barcelona. His legs were tired, as were the tires on his bike and he soon found refuge for the night on the side of a tunnel with an abandoned and blocked off road going through it. He leaned against the cold wall and sat down on the ground, keeping the bike right and close to him. Looking from out the tunnel, he had a nice view of small homes dotted across the used road running along next to him. He had been riding up the same road before he decided that he'd probably tip over if he didn't get some rest soon.

He looked up to the dripping underbelly of the tunnel and pressed his head to the wall behind him. Bundling himself up in his layers and his own arms, he tried to keep his eyes shut while listening to the cars driving passed. Although, the thought of being so close to home overwhelmed him with memories.

When he was young and dreamt of creating a big success all over the entire world, his mother and father fueled his happiness with what seemed like eternal support. And despite being the youngest of three, no child got more attention or love than any other. But what was strange about his childhood was that he didn't realize how much his parents suffered until he left them for the first time. Their jobs ate away at them, drained every last bit of energy out of their lungs and hearts. The both of them tried their best to be as supporting and loving for each other but of course, for any couple, fights were inevitable. Even before the war, they haven't ever really made much money. They cooked and they cleaned and they had fun together as a family with only the bare necessities. The hopes and lights of their days were their beautiful children. The two of them hoped they would grow up and be strong, get good work, get married and have children of their own. They would say how much of a delight it is to be a parent, even though it was probably the hardest thing on earth to do.

Which is why his parents were filled with a strange dread when he mentioned a fierce young man and his family that he had met in Italy. They tried to make conversation, telling him to be careful around such a character, as most men like him were only so strong as they were to simply protect themselves from heartache. Although, Antonio didn't listen to them then. He spoke a million words per second about how their spanish was adorably terrible and the places they told him to eat at were so amazingly wonderful and how this man wanted nothing to do with him yet he had the most interesting conversations with him during his stay. He found himself drawn back to him, every day.

Antonio always came right back home to his parents, bearing gifts or lengthy stories about what he's seen and who he's met, instead of a home of his own. But for him, this was the only home he ever needed. He didn't need to move out, he did enough moving as it was. Sometimes when he returned, his siblings would be home and everyone would sit on the floor hugging each other and laughing together, unable to catch their breath for what seemed like forever and ever. Like nothing else in the world mattered but being together again.

But what mattered now, was staying alive. So Antonio closed his eyes and he prayed. He prayed for his parent's and brother's and sister's health and their wits. He wanted to see them, and he wanted to see them all in one piece. And so he hoped. He hadn't realized but he was soon slipping away into a not-so-comfortable sleep as his eyes were closed. And the following morning it proved for sure that sleeping sitting up against a hard brick tunnel wall wasn't very good for your neck or shoulders or back.

But he wasted no time. Antonio was on his feet and then on his bike within seconds of waking up. He rode into the sun soaked street and his hair greeted the breeze, flowing away and out of his face.

For a moment, everything seemed normal.

As he rode further away from the terrible but wonderful places left behind, he felt as if he was outrunning the war in a race. He turned onto his old street and he felt as if he saw the finish line, that once he ran indoors, the war didn't exist anymore. Once he was wrapped up in his mother's arms again, he would be safe forever.

His feet almost slipped off the bike petals as he rode as fast as he could muster. He was out of breath and a smile subconsciously struck its way onto his features as the sight of his childhood home still standing in the same place it always was got closer. His heart thumped in his chest and he petaled up right in front of the house. Before he could even get off the bike, everything went completely silent, then he heard everything all at once.

A single plane, on its own, decided to drop a bomb in a nearby town, erupting everything around it. The shock and unstableness of the ground hit Antonio as quickly as the nostalgia did. The familiar sound that rang throughout the lands in Barcelona, mixing with all types of rain and snow making something beautiful yet terrifying struck him to the bone. He dove for the ground, curling up and putting his hands over the back of his neck as he nuzzled up against the side of the foundation of his home. He heard nothing other than the rumbling of lives falling apart in the distance and the ringing in his ears. He waited and waited until he was sure nothing else was going to happen, and even so, he waited some more before he finally decided to sit up, still close to the building. A few families dared to come and look outside at the damage, smoke of it mixing with the factories nearby and soon covering the entirety of the sky.

He thought he left it all behind. He didn't think this sacred place around him could not be touched. But perhaps that was foolish of him to think, because no place in the world is untouchable and neither is one's family. Before he could fully register what was happening around him he noticed he was being yanked inside by somebody that he later recognized as his sister after the door had been slammed shut. He was surprised he could walk, but even so he slumped onto the living room floor and his sister followed.

"Antonio!" she almost shouted, taking ahold of his face within both of her hands.

He blinked. "That's me," he sighed, smiling crookedly.

"You ass!" she hugged onto him tightly which squeezed a cough out of him, but before he could say anything she continued. "You stopped writing… where on earth have you been?" she pulled away. "Oh! Mamá will want to see you!"

"Mamá?" Antonio repeated sheepishly.

"Yes, dumby."

Antonio felt her slim fingers brush the hair from his face and her pulling him up from the ground. She managed to slip off his bag from his shoulders and place it on the couch before taking ahold of his hand and leading him down an all too familiar hallway to his parent's bedroom. He noticed that the same pictures were still hanging, slightly asymmetrical from the recent beating the house took. She knocked softly on the worn out door and a voice he remembered to be his father's called them into the room.

The smell that met him when the door opened was the same as when he was a child. It was a certain smell he recalled that he always tried to find in a candle scent, but never could. The smell was indescribable and completely original. He let his eyes wander across the old room for awhile before his gaze eventually fell to the bed, where his mother lay ill, holding onto his father's hands, face pale and forehead sweaty. That woman there that was supposed to be his mom did not look the same as he remembered. She seemed weak. Her brown hair was fading into a white near the roots and stuck to her forehead near her wrinkled eyes. She smiled upon seeing him, which reassured Antonio that this was in fact her. It was hard to see someone you held so highly, so low.

"Mamá," he started, speaking softly and making his way to her bed. "What happened? You were in such good health before I left…"

"That was over a year ago, Antonio," she spoke quietly, chuckling a little to herself. "A lot can happen in a year."

"I know…"

Antonio's father, Miguel, inquired where he had been all this time. And Antonio sighed, comfortably sitting on the edge of his mother's bed and feeling the presence of his sister leaning in the doorway. He thought for a moment on where to begin, trying to remember the whole story, and soon he started. Antonio lost his breath several times as he forgot to breathe, having so much to say about the people he has met on his journeys. He told lengthy stories about Natalie and her parents and the kindness they showed him. He explained all about his job at the factory and the time someone got into a fist fight with the main employer. He even dotted in a small anecdote about the grumpy little boy who gave him his bike.

Antonio tried to keep everybody light, wanting it to be the same as always when he came home. He avoided stories about the war and bombings as much as he could without leaving too much out. Even so, when he did brush over it, he spoke very quickly. Antonio felt proud anytime he could make his family laugh when he told his story, and one particular incident made his father laugh so hard, the bellows beckoned his older brother from his work down the hall, to which Antonio greeted him with a hug and a smile.

"Sounds like you've been through quite a lot on during your trip, Antonio," his mother, Sonia, spoke, having sat up and propped herself up with pillows during his talk.

"Yes, but nevermind that," he shook his head and turned to her. "I am just very happy to be home... Now tell me, is there something I can do? Of course I'll get a job and- and help to pay for things. Obviously, I'll help you mother with your medication. Oh- do you even need medication? I hope it's not that serious… whatever you have. Is it bad?-"

"Whoa, whoa mijo!" Miguel placed a hand on the jittery boy's shoulder, which quickly silenced him and gained his attention. "Calm down, it's okay. I've never seen you so ecstatic."

"Sorry…"

"There's nothing to apologize for," he reassured. "We don't need you to do anything for us. If you want to work, you may. Though I'm sure mom would like some help around the house since your brother and sister so lovingly fled the house-"

"To work!" Antonio's sister protested from the doorway, making her mother giggle.

"Yes, yes. And we're very appreciative," he smiled. "But Antonio, honestly, we're just happy that you're home again."

"Believe me, I am too."