The year was 1995 and the world already seemed to be mourning what it hadn't even lost yet. It was pouring rain, large, angry teardrops that stung any exposed skin. Dark clouds veiled the sun completely so lonely shadows were hidden away. The wind cried out for a comfort it wasn't going to find.

That was the day I received it; the riddle.

Mom had her hood pulled tightly over her head and was practically sobbing as she dragged Matthew and me into Grandpa's hospital room. Willingly following her, I was in too much shock to comprehend really anything else. It felt as though he had been dying for forever by then. He had been in and out of the hospital for two years straight and to an eleven year-old that's pretty much forever.

Echoing off the tiled floor, the sound of my mom's heels clicking down on the ground seemed to fill the silence in my head. At least it gave me something to focus on as the realization of why I was there began to sink in more and more. My grandpa was laying in some old hospital bed dying. My big, strong grandpa who could lift Matthew and me both up onto his broad shoulders at the same time. The World War II veteran who was invincible, fearless. Grandpa who told me about how he had saved lives.

My hero was dying and I just about couldn't handle it.

Mom stopped so suddenly in front of us that I walked straight into her back. Her voice shaking, she calmly said between breaths, "I'm Amelia Jones. I would like to see Samuel Williams." My heart pounded in my chest, about to break into a million pieces.

After a short pause, a male voice responded back kindly, "He's in room 221b. Second floor." My mom muttered an inaudible, "Thank you," and continued to drag Matthew and me behind her. Pulling us into an elevator, she let go of us for a second to press a button and then turn around to face us. Taking one of our hands in each of hers, her eyes bounced back and forth between us.

"Now," she began slowly, steadying her voice. Makeup ran down her face in dark, solemn smears. She really didn't need it, her dazzling, blue pools of ocean water that shone with life and gave off such happiness, but could turn vicious when she needed them to. Her wavy, golden rye-coloured hair fell in a neat bob near her jaw. Freckles dotted across her cheeks like paint splatters. To me, she was the most beautiful woman in the world and was the absolute last person to ever need makeup.

"He's not going to recognize you when you get in there, okay?" She continued again looking at the two of us. The door to the elevator had closed and we were being slowly hauled upward. "He barely remembers me, so don't make him feel bad about it and don't take it to heart. Try to comfort him. He loves talking about how he's a veteran. Just ask him about something happy." She sounded more like she was talking to herself more than us.

"We will, Mom," Matthew said quietly, his voice shaking. I nodded and replied, "I'll try to make him happy." She only nodded and turned around and grabbed our hands again as the elevator doors opened again.

Stepping back out onto the tiles, we were practically dragged once more down the hall. "221b...221b..." Mom muttered over and over again to herself. The hallway seemed to never end, it was an endless series of doors with numbers and letters with people darting in and out of them like ants in an ant farm. Finally, she stopped again and took a deep breath. "Are you ready? It might be a little scary and sad, but you two are big boys, right?"

"Yes, Mom," we replied in unison, knowing what she wanted to hear. Nodding, she simply said, "Okay, now, just follow me in." With that, she let go of us, turned the door knob and walked into the room as though she owned the entire building.

A year before, I wouldn't have recognized my grandfather in the state he was in. His usually white greased back hair had fallen out completely, leaving an empty, dull canvas of a head in its place. His usually bright, life filled purple orbs had become a light periwinkle colour that seemed lost and icy. More hair had sprung up in his ears and eyebrows making him look like an odd elf of some sort. His mouth sat agape revealing that his teeth were gone, leaving just mushy, pink gums. Wrinkles covered his once ageless face and dark circles were strikingly visible under his deep set eyes. I had never seen him look more old.

The clicking of Mom's heels caught his attention and he turned his head away from my Uncle Sam, whom had arrived earlier, and my great aunt Susanne, the youngest of their twelve siblings and only one of the two that were still alive.

A wide, toothless grin spread across his face as he caught sight of her. "My little Earhart!" He exclaimed, weakly. Matthew and I followed cautiously behind her hoping that maybe, maybe, Grandpa would still know us. "You're so old! I swear you were just ten years-old the last I saw you!"

Mom smiled her forced smile and laughed her fake laugh. No one could tell the difference between her real and fake smiles or laughs unless they knew her for years. She was just good at making people happy.

Keeping her facade plastered to her face, she cheerfully chirped back, "Pa, I've missed seeing you. How are you doing?"

He chuckled a bit and almost sadly replied, "I feel like death." Uncle Sam glanced at great aunt Susanne, but no one commented on it; Grandpa had caught sight of Matthew and me. "Brought more curious listeners, I see." Looking at each other for a half a second, we nodded and cautiously made our way to his bedside.

Grandpa smiled at us, happily, giddily, genuinely. Everyone knew his love of storytelling. He could go on for hours talking about what he and his siblings did as children or just making stuff up. His imagination and curiosity never left him, even at the end.

"What do you youngsters want to hear about?" We hadn't thought about what to ask him, but we knew anything would have made him happy as long as he felt like someone cared about it. After a panicked, awkward pause, Matthew piped up saying, "Sir, can you tell us about what made you happiest in life?" Coming from a ten year-old, it was quite deep and probably took most of the adults in the room by surprise.

A glimmer shone somewhere inside him as the sentence was finished. He smiled a bit wider and licked his lips. "Boys, I can name thousands of times that something or someone made me happy, but nothing made me happier than Molly.

"Molly was the love of my life. Stubborn, hot headed, and if she had her mind set to it, nothing in this world would ever stop her. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. She was the one thing that really got me through the war. That gal could listen to me for hours and some how prevented me from getting too big a head. Kind, sweet, loving Molly," he sounded wistful, almost as though he were in some other place.

"She loved children, wanted a house full of them. I wanted to make her as happy as she made me. We got married the year after the war ended and the next April, Sam was brought into the world. He was the tiniest baby I ever done saw." A chuckle escape from his lips before he continued on. "Unfortunately, the house never became as full as I think she would have liked it too. I delivered seven babies in my day...only two of them lived. Amelia was born, oh, about fifteen years after Sam. I swear, Molly loved them both more than she loved herself, and I always got the feeling that she would have wanted more young ones to look after.

"But she accepted and loved the ones she had and eventually that became the most she could have ever hoped for. She did everything for them. Baked cookies before they got home from school, figured out how to help them with their schoolwork, knitted them gloves and such in her free time. She was the most beautiful thing in the world to me. Her bright blue eyes and wavy golden hair. She could light a room up just with her smile. She was smiling until the..." He trailed off.

I remembered the day grandma died. The world was darker than it was there in 1995 and the snow was coming down so hard that it was beginning to cover up the window. Mom had come home crying. At first I didn't understand, until I tried calling Grandma to talk about it, she was a great listener and had the best advice. Grandpa picked up. His voice was shaky and hollow and he told it to me straight. I dropped the phone and flopped on my bed crying. Matthew was four and didn't get why it was so bad, saying that she was in a better place. He would never miss her like I would the first couple years.

Grandpa recovered quickly, asking us gently, "Now, tell me about what interests you so much. What makes you two happy?"

"I like polar bears," Matthew started quietly. His hands were shaking and he was blinking hard. "I also really like hockey. Sometimes I stay up to watch it even though Mom tells me not too." Grandpa laughed, amused by Matthew's childish honesty. Turning a bit, he said to our mother, "Where did you find these two?" She didn't respond, as I replied, "Well, I like science! In school, they sometimes talk about planes, and I like planes too. What I really like is learning about World War II."

Grandpa smiled a bit more. "You know, I'm a veteran from World War II." He started rambling about some of his old bunk mates, bits and pieces of stories I had heard millions of times before. Usually I listened happily but now other things had my attention. Mom was crying again, silently to herself as she listened to Grandpa ramble. Great aunt Susanne had her hand over her mouth, puffy eyed and cheeks red. Uncle Sam looked in pain, as though someone were driving a stake through his chest.

Matthew had my attention the most. He had grabbed on to my arm for comfort as the tears started spilling out of his eyes. The redness of his face looked odd and it did weird things to the colour of his naturally hyacinth irises. I was always jealous of how much he looked like Grandpa. I looked a lot like my dad according to everyone who knew him. Same shade of blond hair, same face shape and ears. Thankfully my eyes were some shade a blue like Mom's but I could see the far off, pained look in hers that she got when she stared at me for too long.

Just a month after Mom got pregnant with Matthew, my dad walked out on us. I was still an infant so I don't remember really anything about him or why he left, just that he made Mom sad for a long time. She filed the divorce papers and he at least showed up for that. For some reason, Mom kept his last name though, Jones. I guess she loved him too much to change it.

Almost exactly a year after I was born, Matthew was too, on July first of 1984. My first birthday was three days later on the fourth and Grandpa and Grandma had taken me to the hospital as a surprise present of getting to meet my baby brother. To their surprise, they found that his last name wasn't Jones as Mom's and mine were, but instead was Williams. Apparently when he was born, Mom decided to give him her maiden name in lieu of my father's. I'm still not sure if what she did was legal or not, but nobody stopped her.

Looking at Matthew, I slid my arm up so his hand fell into mine, a comforting hand holding that we didn't do often.

Grandpa suddenly seemed to snap out of his rambling daze and looked me in the eyes. "Say," he said weakly. "What are your names?"

"I'm Alfred and this is my brother Matthew!" I said, trying to still sound confident even though I was ready to start crying with the rest of them.

"Alfred and Matthew," Grandpa said seeming to ponder on the words. After a long moment, he sighed and tried to sit up more. "Boys, I need to ask something of you. Will you do it for me?"

We nodded in unison, trying to be as quiet as possible as his voice was beginning to fade. "Listen up, because I ain't repeating myself." He wouldn't have gotten the chance to anyway. "Here's a riddle for you, go find the answer; there's a reason for the world, you and I."

We waited silently for him to continue or explain or give us more to work with, but he didn't. After a silent moment, great aunt Susanne managed, "Samuel?"

"I'm still here," he said with an odd finality. Another moment passed before he spoke again. "Now, will someone do their dear Uncle Sam a favour and turn out the damned lights?"

And with that, he was gone.

Matthew and I didn't speak on the ride home. We didn't speak as we secluded ourselves in our shared bedroom. We didn't speak as we buried our faces into our beds and started crying. We didn't speak as we slept in the same bed that night trying to comfort the other while still trying to get support.

There was an unspoken agreement not to speak about the riddle until we felt ready.

Only a week after Grandpa passed away, school ended. Matthew and I had both gone to the last week because it took our minds off things for a while. On the last day, Mom picked us up early. As we drove home, I piped up from the backseat, "Hey Mom?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"What do you think Grandpa meant by his riddle?" There was a long silence until she reached a red light. She waited a few seconds before answering, "You both know that before people die, they're not always thinking straight."

"But when he was telling us about Grandma, that was all true. He's told us before."

Sighing, Mom replied drily, "I know it is. But you shouldn't worry too much about it."

"We know," Matthew interjected. "But we just want to know what he meant by it." The light turned green and Mom turned the corner. There was a second long silence before anyone spoke again.

"I think," Mom said sighing. "That he was asking you to figure about what the purpose of your world is. Why you were put here. But both of you are too young to have to worry about that." There was another pause before she continued again. "Don't let it get to you too much. Most adults don't even know their real purpose."

Matthew and I got the hint not to push it more or talk about it, at least not in front of her. Instead, as soon as we got home, we raced outside to our hiding spot.

"What do you think the answer is?" Matthew asked eagerly, plopping down into the dirt. Sitting down next to him, I scrunched my eyebrows together. "I don't know. Maybe if we try to pick one thing now, we'll find a better answer later on."

"Yeah!" A bright curiosity shone in him. It was the second time I had seen him remotely happy outside of public that week. The first time was when he received an old white teddy bear and a pair of child sized ice skates out of Grandpa's will. I had gotten his old aviator jacket from World War II.

After a moment, we looked at each other and he quietly said, "I think mine is to be kind to everyone."

"Dude, that's so lame."

"Well do you have a better idea?"

"Yeah, I do actually. I'm going to be a hero!"

"How?" Matthew folded his arms and gave me a hard glare. I hadn't really thought it through, but an idea came to me in just a couple seconds.

"I'll join the army and be a pilot! I'll save lives just like Grandpa did!" Matt suddenly looked scared. He quickly reached out and grabbed my arm. "Al, you could die that way! Grandpa almost died several times and he told you that!"

"But he didn't! And that doesn't even matter now, he's dead anyway." Matthew became really quiet, dropped my gaze and let go of me. His fingers started busying themselves by playing with several pebbles near his feet. The silence started eating at me, making me feel worse and worse about my words, until I had to speak up.

"That's a long way off, Matt," I said almost as quietly as he normally spoke. "I could change my mind by then."

"You better." He sounded bitter. Why he was so upset about the whole thing, I wasn't sure, but I didn't like it. Kicking a couple of rocks into the tall weeds, I softly asked, "How else could I be a hero? I could be a firefighter and still risk my life, or a policeman and still end up dying."

Matthew was still silent. He stayed that was for about a minute. Randomly, he placed a stone into the centre of my hand and said, "I just don't want you to leave me, Al." We stared at each other for a long time, until I finally nodded.

"It'll be okay, Mattie. We'll figure out this riddle one of these days." Silence settled over us as we sat for a few seconds. It was the same noisy silence that you always got in the woods during summer, but this time it didn't annoy me or eat away at me.

"Wanna go play soccer?" I asked after a while. Matthew nodded and bounced up. "Race you back to the house," he said not a half second before he took off sprinting.

"Hey! No fair!" I yelled, taking off after him.

That night, I remember not being able to fall asleep, thinking through how Grandpa, a hero, didn't find the answer to the riddle. But if what Mom said was true, then he wouldn't have been able to tell us the answer anyway. I settled on the idea that there wasn't just one single right answer, but multiple, thousands and millions of varying answers.

It was nearly pitch black out when I did doze off. My last thoughts about how if Grandpa found the answer by being a hero, so could I. That was the first part of the equation that would get me the my answer.

Eh! New story! I'll warn you not to expect a new update anytime within the very near future. This was just an idea I for something I wrote up a couple months ago and I decided to go somewhere with it recently. Once I get to writing it consistently I'll start updating it consistently.

The idea for this is based largely off of the song "The Riddle" By Five For Fighting (I'm so original). Check it out sometime!

Anyway thanks for reading and have a fabulous day!