When you have money, there’s a whole home going service and your body is placed in one of the crypts or buried below ground. We don’t have any money, so we’re forced to watch as grandma’s body burns on a small pyre. I’ve never been to one of these before, but Khalil says the worst part is that you’ll be stuck smelling your loved one for days after it’s done.


    “Remember when we first met,” Khalil asks.


    “I remember bits and pieces.”


    “I remember it like it was yesterday,” he starts to tell the story.


    The truth is I remember the story, and I probably remember it better than he ever will. Khalil was always frail as a child, and he wasn’t fit to play with other boys, always wheezing, coughing, out of breath and left behind. He got bullied a lot because of it. I stood up for him one day. I used to be bullied about being a homeless orphan a lot, and I learned that sometimes a bully just needs to be hit. We became good friends after that. When the other kids would leave him behind, I’d always wait for him. Even carry him on my back at times.


    “When grandma first brought you home, and fed you she was surprised at how well you could eat for a skinny kid,” he laughs and I join.


    I at well because I was poor, I rarely had a meal and it was even rarer for that meal to be hot. That’s just how it was. Still, she took me, and treated me as her own. She would tell people we were both her grandsons and never treated me any different than Khalil. He was just happy to have someone else around. I was happy that I finally had a family. I got worried that as Khalil got older and less frail that she’d kick me out. She didn’t even care, the last eight years of my life have been way better than the first eight because of her and Khalil.


    “I’m glad you’ve been with me through this whole thing, I couldn’t have done this alone,” Khalil tries to wipe a tear from his eye before it falls.


    Not far from where we’re standing is a couple, sobbing holding each other for support. If one of them falls, they’ll both fall. Their sobs are harder than ours. We had time with our grandmother, but they’re burning a child. They never got to know that child. Life is both fragile and unfair, but there’s nobody to decide who gets to die of old age and who dies before they’ve even taken their first steps. It’s just a cruel part of life, I guess. People die every day and there’s nothing that any of us can do about it. Sometimes a child dies, and the parents break down. Sometimes the parents die and the child is left orphaned. Other times they grow to an old age and have loved ones tend to their funeral pyre.


    “What do we do now,” Khalil asks.


    “I don’t know,” I put an arm around Khalil’s shoulder to comfort him.


    He responds with an arm around my waist, he’s not tall enough to put an arm around my shoulder. What he lacks in strength, he makes up elsewhere. He’s always been the smarter one. He’s always been the understanding one, the compassionate one, the smart barterer. He’s honestly got me beat in everything but bravery, strength, speed and fighting. But we work well together, covering for each other’s weaknesses. Grandma taught us how that was important. When we’re together, we can do almost anything. She was always adamant that the two of us take care of each other. The fire is starting to go out, there won’t be anything left of her in a few minutes.


    When those minutes are up, I don’t know what we’ll do next. We’ll go home for today and we’ll eat dinner but after that life is a mystery. We’re sixteen, with no family. We’re adults, but aren’t working or skilled at anything. The most likely thing is we’ll be forced into work camps. I’m big, and I can fight, they’ll probably send me off to join the regions militia. Khalil would go to the limestone mines or the fields since he’s not a fighter. But the problem with that is he’s still frail. Even if not like when we were kids, he’s still not strong or a good runner. He’d be just another body out there.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    “Do you want to run away,” the words leave my mouth before I’ve even though it through all the way.


    “Run to where? You think it’s better in other territories.”


    “It has to be, right?”


    “We don’t have a car, we don’t have supplies, running wouldn’t do us any good. We’d just be out in the wilderness.”


    “Then lets set a date, gather supplies and plan where we’re going.”


    “I can’t do it. I couldn’t survive out in the badlands. I’m just not built for it.”


    “But you’re not built to go to the mines or fields either.”


    Khalil laughs, “are you thinking about what happens to me without grandma around,” I don’t have an answer for him. “I’ll just take over grandma’s work as a seamstress. I’ll be fine. It’s you that should be worried. They’ve got all kinds of places they can send you.”


    “I’ll be just fine,” I respond.


    “You’re just scared, it’s okay. I’ll take care of you,” Khalil jokes as we begin to make the short walk to our shack at the edge of town. It wasn’t big, two bedrooms and a main area that served for every other room. I guess the two of us don’t have to share a room now, at least for however long we have left.


    “Did we leave the door open,” I ask as we get closer.


    “I don’t think we did, but we could have just been focused on other things.”


    Inside there’s three men destroying our home and taking what they find valuable. My first instinct is to attack, but I recognize the blue leather vests with gold striping along the side. They’re cores, members of The Oba’s militia. They should be patrolling the area, not looting homes. Nothing is ever as it should be around here. They don’t even have the decency to look at us when we enter.


    “Get out,” I shout, drawing attention to us.


    “Or what,” the largest corre turns to ask me, prompting the others to laugh.


    Khalil has always been the calm one, and I can see him trying to talk it out, but it’s as if my ears are under water, and I can’t hear him. It probably takes the corre by surprise when I start to run towards him, he’s even more surprised when my fist lands in his face. The next few moments are a blur. I find my world spinning as I’m lifted into the air. I try to fight free of my attacker just to be thrown against a wall. It hurts, but I’ve been hurt worse before just jumping off of things for no reason. I don’t take any time to recover, I just launch myself back into the fight slamming my shoulder into the back of a man’s knees. He drops to the floor and I start to land punches on the back of his head. I can hear Khalil calling out to me, warning me but I hear it too late. A hand covers my face and the back of my head is slammed into the dirt floor. I’m slammed down again, and my vision blurs for a moment. The man’s hand slips for a moment, his thumb enters my mouth, and bite down with as much force as a I could. His blood fills my mouth as he screams out in pain, gripping his hand. I spit his thumb and blood onto the floor. I scan the room for the third corre when I’m not attacked. He’s got Khalil cornered. I grab a piece of broken glass as I rush over. Stabbing the vest would be pointless so I drive the glass into his neck and he cries out in pain. I watch my world turned upside down as I spin through the air and get slammed hard on the ground. A fourth corre has arrived.


    “Enough,” I hear him shout. I move to stand up but he places a foot on my neck; not enough to choke me, just enough to let me know he’s in control. “You look pathetic. All three of you should be demoted. You’re supposed to be looking for a damn thief, and here you are acting like thieves.” I can’t see the other corres as he speaks, but they don’t make a sound, they respect him. “Where are your parents,” he asks.


    “Our grandmother died,” Khalil answers, I can hear him holding back tears.


    “Take that one to the field, and take this big fella to the training grounds,” he speaks and the other’s confirm.


    “Don’t act like thugs this time.”


    I can hear Khalil shouting and crying, just barely I can see him as they start to drag him off. I grip the man’s foot on my neck and try to push it off me. He puts his weight on his foot but I manage to break free.


    “Zayir,” Khalil shouts my name as he’s surrounded.


    I’m dropped to the ground again as I rush for him. I force myself to stand and another blow lands, this time to the back of my head. My vision is blurry, but I can still see him reaching his hand out for me. Another blow comes, and my hearing is gone, but I need to get to Khalil.