Beneath The Burning Silence
kitchen—if it could be called that—was sparse. A three-legged table, chipped chairs, a tired stove, and a fridge clinging to half-spoiled cans. Gloom seemed permanent here. Even the sunlight felt weary. I warmed a can of beans and some processed meat over the last dregs of gas while Keli whined, pawing his empty bowl. His whimpers broke something in me. This wasn't a life. It was survival, at best. Hiding, grieving, remembering. I wasn't even sure what I was holding on for. The Nortons had taken everything. They called themselves protectors—guardians of the nation—but their uniforms were soaked in blood and greed. My parents were just two more names erased in their path. We used to live on
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