There is another incident I can relate to about love. Perhaps it was bliss, possibly not. I have no strength left and decide to walk home instead of making an attempt to 'fly' back. My boots drag through the cracked asphalt of the barren highway, and the hollow buildings around me are slowly waning to dust. Some of the empty houses and large mansions emit ghastly sounds, possibly dead spirits trapped inside the rubble. But maybe, it could just be my hallucinating mind playing tricks on me. It is the afternoon now, but the air remains stale and hazy with ash and floating soot. I can barely see, and the wide boulevard is riddled with obscurity; which reminds me.

It was a dark night. And a very cold one too. My mother and I were running through the night, unable to catch our breaths. I did not know why were we running for our lives, and I wanted to stop for air. But she refused to let me. The tall, dark buildings that once overlooked us are gone, and what towers us now are scowling naked trees that have lost all of their leaves. It was like we were cursed, damned, escaping something that I was unsure of, only because I was following my mother. She growled at me to get back on my feet, and she refused to let me stop. There we were, fleeing for no reason and leaving our home without any possessions except for handfuls of our leftover money. All was silent until I heard an angry voice. Indeed, that man was furious, and he was following us, along with what sounded like five other men. My mother left out a terrified, but exhausted gasp as she urged me to carry on, giving me another push to the back. I peered over my shoulder, and through the bleak darkness, I saw a group of men carrying yellow lanterns, and chasing us with guns in their hands. I wanted to ask mom why we were running from them, but I kept silent. We pounded the ground, and tore through bushes, falling, but standing back up. There seemed to be no place to hide; no haven, nor any safe house in sight.

It was not too long until mother collapsed, giving away to her exhaustion. She struggled, and whimpered, unable to carry on any more. My running came to a halt and this time I was the one begging her to get up. I tugged and pulled on her shoulder for dear life until she hoarsely ordered me to leave. Yes, I remember that part; she told me to leave, and to not save her. And why was that? Did she not care?

I refused to listen as boys always do with mothers, and soon enough, the small mob of armed men had the two of us surrounded. We were like prey, caught by the ones wanting to devour us. With these barbarians tightly surrounding us, I could now see thanks to the oil lanterns that they were carrying. I stared up at the people, and found no expression from these cruel people that wanted us hunted.

"Ah, here we are." said one of the men, "A runaway slave with her son."

"What to do with them…" sighed another with sarcastic pity. Those cruel people were slave dealers. My dad always warned me about these demons. And now he's dead because of them.

With that, my mother was pulled away from me, and we both screamed, begging to be put back together again. I kicked, and lashed out at the two men gripping my shoulders, but I was weak against them, I had no strength. They only chuckled at my pathetic effort to free myself.

I then remembered what these people did next. They did something to mother, but I'd rather not explore that part of the reminiscence in depth.

Weeks later, I told that dreadful anecdote to my friends in the slave camp as we were rounded up into our sleeping quarters. They seemed to care less about the dreadful fact that my father was shot in the head, my other siblings were sold, and my mother was torn away from me. And towards the end, they only laughed at me, but politely informed me that my long lost mother was 'raped' as what I had described to them.

Supposedly that's how love works its wonders according to these people. I couldn't tell if they were making a cruel joke about it, but sometimes it just sucks to be naïve.