Broken Things

Taking The Streets

As we move along the park, watching the streets outside watch us. I see Ion. My heart hurts, for him.
I step up next to him and tap his shoulder. He looks down at me. He smiles," You looked bigger at the rally."
He's trying to make light easy conversation. Because I look young. To young to have lived threw it.
" I'm 19." He seems a bit confused, probably because he doesn't remember asking my age.
" I just- I don't look- I'm a H-Bomb Baby."  At this he understands." You where born when the first blast happened."
"Yeah." I say trying to hide the evidence his too serious eyes are searching for. " What do you think about what's about to happen?"
"They had is coming. They take our parents, our homes, our lifes. By not talking, By not showing, this new generation of aristocrats will never know, and possibly repeat what happened to us." I look down at the floor. " They  gave me a box." I say whilst looking at the floor.

' A...Box?"
"Yes."
"Why...?"
"I don't know.But they gave you a pin right?" I ask looking up at him.
"What's that got to do with anything?" He asks.
"Talk to anyone who's parents where taken away manually and in front of them. They got objects. Pins, Boxes, Cards, Envelopes. All empty."
" Yes and?"
"Don't you think there's a reason?"
" It's war, there's never a reason."

We quiet after that. But, he slows his long steps to keep with mine.
I think he's waiting for me to say something.
" What else did it do?"
I stumble. Both literally and speech wise. He catches my arm and sturdy s  me.
" Excuse me?"  I say.
" The Blast,girl, The Blast."
" I...um."
" So?"
" I can kinda can read other languages."
"You learn fast then?"
"No."
"Well then? I mean you can't just now what they say without..." he throws me a look.
"I can." I say stubbornly.

Again it  grows silent and I become aware that while I was arguing with this boy I forgot to watch this glorious sunset. My last glorious sunset, before putting myself at war with a nation with an army that could kill us in an instant without sending one soldier into battle.
We pass an old lamp post much like the one in front of our old house. It hadn't been a manor of any sort. A small shoddy one level, two bedroom house for two parents and 5 little children. Three boys, two darling little girls.
For a second a picture of us swings into my head but I send it away. Frightened because can no longer remember yours faces.

The group begins to chant, " We are the forgotten. Let us speak of memories. You wash away like blood on the street. We are the Forgotten." Ion next is quiet. His eyes look to me but do not speak.
Neither of us speaks. Neither of chants. I have reasons. Mostly the lack of belief. We are not the forgotten. My Mother, My father, Angel, August,Faith, Katherine. They are the forgotten. They we're washed away. Not me. I'm here and I'm supposed to do something about it.

Just as I am about to chant, the sound of a can tossed and rolling. Makes me reach for Ion and say, "Run."