88

BRANDON

Eleven years ago

I smelled burning wood; it dried my throat.

I was sure my eyes looked bloodshot. I might never see the blood, but I could feel it on my lids; the scent of the fresh wound was messing up my head. I felt fucking heavy-headed; the top of my skull was throbbing in inexpressible pain.

And it hurt... everything fucking hurt so much that my limbs stopped functioning. I couldn’t move my body. I squeezed my eyes in my attempt to gather my wits, but to no avail. The excruciating ache in my chest drained the remaining strength from my body.

What’s going on with me? Why can’t I move?

Mom? Elga? Where are you?

I cried inside, but as though I was paralyzed, even my voice was inaudible.

Mom! Elga! I screamed mentally.

Still nothing.

Then there were blabbering voices that sounded unclear. I thought it was all in my head, but they got clearer as seconds passed. Men having conversations I could now hear plainly.

“What should we do with the boy?” The voice was throaty and unfami