• The boy awoke with a sudden jolt of surprise. He had heard a metallic bang resonating from somewhere inside his families quaint farm home resting comfortably in the countryside. The boy, tired, but excited for the new day and maybe the promise of fresh bacon for breakfast, ran out his bedroom to the kitchen. He wondered into the kitchen cautious, wary of a scolding from his mother for running in the house.

    The young boy found his mother picking a frying pan from the floor, most likely the cause of his disturbance. His mother's elegant blonde hair shone like a gold nugget in a crisp, flowing river. Her spring green eyes looked up, and gazed at him with the warm glow that all mothers radiate. Her strawberry lips parted, and softly spoke to him, "What would you like for breakfast, darling?" The boy, blind with innocence, did not notice another emotion portraying on his sweet mother's face. Pain, and a vast amount of fear, as if doom lingered and followed the air around her. He spoke up, "Eggs and Bacon!" the boy exclaimed, with an ear-to-ear grin. The golden haired enchantress smiled back to him, "Coming right up, my strong man." His mother strode over to the stove, and prepared the child's breakfast.

    The golden haired mother's fear was for to advanced for her son's mind to grasp, not now. The Legion would visit her soon, and she did not know if she could protect her child, let alone herself. The child, noticing the negative looming on his mother's expression, spoke up in concern. "Mom, is everything OK?" The mother, snapping out of her wandering mind, quickly replied to her child, "Of course, honey." Minutes later, she served her son the breakfast, who had been ecstatic since he awoke. Going about her business, like cleaning and mindless house chores, the mother tried to keep strong for her son. Though she could not remain strong, for she heard the sound of tires against rocks and soil, and an animalistic yell. The boy perked up, and his mother darted from her position at the stove to scoop the boy out of his place at the table and ran down the hall. She carried him into her room, set him down, and yanked her tidy bed out of place. Under the bed was an odd, lime green rug, and under that, something more. A cellar his mother discovered, and kept out of sight for just such an occasion. She swept away the rug, and pulled up on a rusty latch, to reveal a dusty, old space. His mother herded him down a creaky wooden ladder, and whispered fiercely to him, "Stay put, no matter what you hear, and stay quite...I love you, Samigina."


    She closed the wooden hatch, replaced the rug, and scooted the bed back into place. The boy listened carefully, and he heard voices speaking to his mother. It was a male voice, it sounded old, with some kind of harsh accent. "Where is the boy?" He said, sounding stern and official. "You'll never find him, I bet he's off the planet by now." The boy's mother retorted to the intruding man. He had never heard his mother so rebellious, or speak, with such a strict tone. "Harlot! I will have your tongue!" The man yelled, and he heard his mother collapse to the floor. "Now, I will ask again, Where. Is. The. BOY!?" His mother exclaimed, "Go back to whatever cesspool you crawled out of!" Then a loud bang resonated throughout the house, and more shouting, the sound of multiple men stomping through the house. He could hear the men, tearing apart the rooms, furniture, cabinets, all things nailed down, and not. The adrenaline-packed nightmare carried on for the boy for what seemed like hours, until eventually everything went silent. Though it had seemed like the men were gone, the boy stayed in his dusty refuge, heeding his mother's final words.
    But one thing was enough to drive the boy out of the hidden cellar, the pungent, choking aroma of smoke. Black smoke began to pollute the air in the cellar, suffocating the young boy. He stuffed his face into his shirt, clasping the cloth down with both hands, he began to sweat and hyperventilate. In moments, the harsh conditions of the underground gas chamber had become too much for him to handle, and he rushed for the cellar door. Pushing up on the hatch sent the green rug flopping on it's backside, and up against the wall closest to the hatch. The bed had been removed, and smoke filled the entire room, like a cloud of smothering black poison.

    Rushing out his mother's bedroom door, he went head first into the raging inferno of blazing wood and scorched furniture. Braving through the blaze, he looked quickly and frantically for his mother, and through the smoke all he could see was a pool of blood, and the front door kicked open. With no hope of finding his mother, and the risk of death in the inferno, he ran out the smashed in doorway. Reaching the cool, crisp outside air, the ground was laden with snow and frost, and the hills were blanketed in white, contrasting the grey sky. The boy kept running, until he reached the top of the hill overlooking his burning country home. The crimson flames danced in the low winter light, sending ash and smoke into the dark and cloudy sky. The boy, Samigina, cried as he watched the fire consume his home, all the trampling men had gone, nothing was left for him, nothing but a pursuit, for vengeance. A pursuit, in vendetta.