Tears streaming down my pale ashen face as I caress the one thing that was mine. A leather bound journal filled with my secrets and stories. Now it’s desecrated, shattered from existence. The tears fall, sliding down the once smooth leather. Now it’s ashen, the leather covered in scars.

I should have listened. I should have followed. Now I was paying the price. All my hopes and dreams burnt away. Like the loose pages falling from the seams from my now forgotten dreams. I clutched the journal tighter hoping to preserve the black pages. I hope this was what he wanted. I hope he had achieved his goal. He wanted a pure race and I wanted a family, someone who recognized my once full face. It looks like neither of us got what we so dearly hoped. He had killed himself months ago, taking my family with him. I was now alone staring at the burnt remains of my hope, of my faith. The war was over and so was my family, the ones who knew my face.