I loathed going into our attic. It was always dank and dark. However, at the moment, my own comfort took second priority. The documents were both the most dangerous and sacred things we owned. I both feared and admired hem as some girls admire fashion designers with hot tempers.
As I gingerly climbed the stairs, my mind refused to let go of my largest fear; super - soldiers. Supersoldiers haunted every dark corner of the city, every closet coated with dust, and my nightmares. They were my demons and tormentors. I tried not to think of them. I didn't relish the thought of dying young.
In the process of working out my thoughts into a semi-coherent order, I had reached the attic. I pulled down on the stairs and climbed up. I saw the box almost immediately. I grabbed it and thundered back down the ladder steps. I threw open the box, choking on the wall of dust, and began to throw other things in. From the bedroom I got the photo albums and the other picture frames. When I had fully filled it up I got duct tape and sealed it. I grabbed a few other important things and went to get dressed in my regular clothes. It was often considered unusual to see a ten year old girl boarding a plane in her pajamas.
My closet was still a mess from the week before when I had gone through my shoe bin. I managed to find a wearable pair of jeans and a clean shirt. I zipped up; my favorite hoodie and pulled back my hair. I knew exactly what to do from years of being grilled on procedure and the importance of having a well orchestrated plan. Now came the hard part...choosing my valuable items.