I now understand the art of death. How it pounces on you when you least expect it, striking the life out of your loved ones. The worst part is the aftermath, what remains left behind. I was only ten when my eyes were scraped of their innocence as I watched my parents die with my own eyes, and yet I felt nothing, nothing but a sheet of numbness deep within my heart. Yet the worst wasnt over yet, no, the worst hadnt even begun. Oh the dangers that come with knowing a certain mysterious, startling, blue eyed boy, while being tossed into the foreboding past of my parents death. Despite the fact, little did I know the truth comes out one way or another just as fate has a cruel way of revealing ones hidden agendas. They say encountering a death is just a part of growing up. I'm not sure that it helps, but everyone experiences it eventually, everyone is brought face to face with what a monstrous thing life is...I suppose it is the beginning of wisdom.
11 parts