Today,unlike most others these days, the stagnant ice of the era has seemed to subside;and yet things have never seemed so rigid.Boisterous fits of laughter erupt from the honest people of Knoxen. Tentative, hysterical cry's,yet laughter all the same. Usually, bodies urgently dart across the hub like lanky coyotes, but today, they linger. A collective sigh is emitted from the inner most core of the village, and for the first time in over two years a mirthful tune dances atop the market tents. The smell of Jessie's callow bread wafts overhead, causing my tongue to salivate. Our vendors sell their stock with weary eyes and a tired smile, yet a smile all the same. My attention shifts with the wind;it's cloudy out, but I sit under Borists shade none the less. I stare out at my neighbors, trying to remember the days before, but the task is not an easy feat. The distinct twang of the mobs mandolin floats overhead, individually plucking at my memory, evoking feelings long lost and filed. The wind rustles through Sakis leaves as dark moisture begins to collect overhead;rain.Pops will be expecting me home soon, but I allow myself to doze a while longer, absorbing the serenity that I have scarcely known. My eyes exude warmth and calm as I watch sheepishly the grey smoke that plumes from the narrow chimneys, which dwell inside the town.
Ever since The Outage, our government has been harbored by chaos. Snatching our ambassador Mayla's position, we were overcome by three who lived by fight or flight. As I look out into the masses of my village, I suddenly lock eyes with a young boy, maybe six or seven years old. For someone of his stature his gaze is intensely captivating, so much so it is hard for me to look away.His countenance is reminiscent of a baby lamb, tufts of white-blonde hair stick up every which way and candy red lips pucker his face in the shape of miniature bowtie,but his crowing characteristic is of course, his drawing dark ember eyes. I smile with as much warmth as I can muster, and am reciprocated with a fleeting amiable grin;and that is when I notice the scar.It started along the inner hook of his weathered thumb and went on to bisect his meaty palm, milky white flesh braising the natural curve of the hand. The boy didn't even have the time to howl, but the sheer panic that pulsated from his magnifying eyes expressed more than I care to share, and I witnessed it all, as my eyes never broke the gaze...............Suddenly, I am six years old sitting on my front long,arms hugging my bleeding legs. Flaming debris rain down, and precede to ornament my lawn. A particularly jagged instrument strikes but two feet before me. I desperately search for refuge but I am paralyzed with fear, the next thing I know it is nightfall, and the most beautiful lady I have ever seen in real life is reaching out to me, staring intently with glinting gold eyes. Air blades sound in the distance and chaos continues to impede, I take her hand. Time freezes over.