Kataya
Where am I? Is that... what is that?
I bend over to pick up the photograph, worn with age. It's a picture with me in it, and a family was surrounding me. We were all laughing and soaking in each other's warmth. I miss them so much that it aches. Only, something is wrong... I don't quite know what it is exactly, but it is just... wrong. This isn't my real family, so who are they? And why do they make me feel like they are my actual family?
A woman steps into the light. She is probably in her forties, but hides under paint on her face that used to be used to enhance a woman's features. It was millenniums ago when they stopped using it. But what captures my attention is her lower stomach, and the pained, desperate look on her face. There is a dark patch, with rich, thick blood oozing out of the wound. There is a man in front of her, and he's stabbing at her wound. She is screaming, and her raspy, choked voice seeps into my ears. I want to help her, and I am about to take a step towards her when the life floods out of her eyes, and she crumples to the ground.
I rush over to her, and, a little ways away, is a still, huddled mass. Leaving the woman, who there was nothing I could do for, I cautiously move over to the large figure. It is becoming clearer, it looks like a group of people. I can make out their faces- oh no, oh no, oh no, not again, not again. Just stop iiiiiiit!