Flashback A Day To Remember

[Amon Torque]

A Day To Remember
Summer 57, 505 AV
It was warm, warm and dry. Even if all the air in Sunberth was condensed for water, you wouldn't get a drop. Amon licked his chapped lips, preparing to address the imposing man in front of him. He knew they were family friends, but most people intimidated Amon, everyone was out to get him, no matter who they were, or who they claimed to be. It was this philosophy that kept him from being one of those rumors around town, about the kidnapped girl, or the boys body found in the alley. Amon had no intentions in becoming either of those stories.

The man let out a gruff laugh, seeing as the boy in front of him came nearly weekly, yet still hesitated at conversation, "c'mon my boy, you really must get over this social block!" Calvin announced, "Its been months, were practically family, but you don't even talk to me freely." It was true, of course, but Amon would like to think otherwise, so he simply placed the items he had been tasked with getting on the dusty counter, holding put the necessary mizas.

"Just keep that to yourself uncle Calvin, I don't need any more criticism," Amon replied with a frown, enough people commented on his quiet nature, although Amon wondered why they needed to make their thoughts known. Calvin was one of the only people Amon truly did trust, although he would never tell Calvin that. He knew that his uncle was the kind of person to get a swelled head, Amon was good about predicting personality traits, it was a helpful skill, but prevented him from making very many friends.

Amon collected the goods and herbs off the counter, turning to the door, catching a glimpse of Calvin's smug grin. "See you next week Amon," Calvin called out as Amon opened the door, "tell your mother I wish her luck on the latest concoction she comes up with!" Amon grinned at him, then walked out onto the dusty road, heading toward home, he still had a pocket full of mizas, and had no intention of having them stolen.

He stood up as straight as he could, the streets were strangely empty, and he was one of the few targets out, so he tried to look as large and manly as possible. Of course, this meant nothing when he saw smoke in the distance. Smoke meant there was a fire, and fire meant people would be getting burnt. Amon clutched his groceries tight, and began to sprint, feet pounding hard against the ground, kicking up dust behind him. People glared and coughed as he passed, dust getting in their eyes, but Amon kept running, lungs inflating and deflating.

The dry air did not exactly help his purpose, and his hoarse breathing signified just that. With grains of dust raking across the back of his throat, Amon's throat burned, the taste of blood polluting his mouth. The fire was almost out when Amon's widened eyes laid themselves upon the ashes of his former home, the smoke barley visible over the yelling and clashing of weapons in front of him. The wall of blood and steel separating him and his former home felt more immense than the widest abyss.

So Amon just stared, too shocked to move. The only thing that saved him was a stranger kind enough to yank him into an alley, hiding him from the gang war outside. Amon was too dumbfounded by the scene he had just seen to do anything else than breathe. So thats what he did. He took deep breaths and felt the dusty ground below him, taking in every pebble and grain of sand.

[Amon Torque]

The shouting died down, left behind was only a crimson road, bodies littering it. Amon used the wall to stand up, legs shaky and eyes watering. The thirty steps it took to get from the alleyway to his ash pile of a home seemed longer than walking around the entire city three times. Time itself seemed to slow, every breath Amon took seamed to echo in his ears. His eyes were trained on the ashes of the home.

He began to sift through them, trying to find some confirmation of what he knew to be true. It was inevitable, he knew at one point or another human curiosity would take over, so he may as well finish the job now. Amon's smooth, youthful hand dug through the ashes, the warm grit rubbing them raw. His eyes watered uncontrollably, both from his emotions, and the smoke billowing with the gusts of wind, directly into his eyes.

Pictures of his mother and father flashed through his head as he dug, using his fingers like a plow, mowing ash apart, looking for surviving relics of his history. It was when his hand brushed against a something hard, like a rock, but smoother, much smoother. Amon furiously dug, clothes, face, and hands stained black in hard contrast with the bright blue sky.

He took out his emotions on the rubble, moving it this way and that, hoping to feel the reassuring touch of the same smooth object. His hand hit it again, and Amon's finger latched around it like a lobster onto a sailors finger, refusing to let go. He yanked up, pulling the shining metal band out to embrace the sun again, staring at it in disbelief. It was his mothers charm bracelet, which assured Amon of the worst. They were dead, the both of them. Cremated in the very place they called home, and Amon was forced to feel the truth, knowing his mother never took off the tin band, circled through several small charms, each engraved masterfully.

Amon looked up at the sky in denial, eyes piercing the clouds with daggers of malice. What did we do? Why us!, he yelled internally, he knew it was the fault of nobody, but still, it felt better to think someone was out to get him than misfortune itself. But Amon didn't understand why it was his parents, others did worse than being a con man, in fact, half of Sunberth was worse!

It didn't make sense, but it was no point in sitting here, he still didn't completely believe that his parents could be swept so quickly from his life. Amon hated change, the winds that came with it were to turbulent for him, yet now he was yanked into a twister, and it looked as if it was not going to stop spinning any time soon.

Calvin, was Amon's only coherent thought, replaying in his head as he grabbed hold of the charm bracelet, embracing it as if it was his mother. With the name of his friend in mind, Amon charged to Calvin's Solutions, where he knew Calvin would be waiting, bored at the counter, awaiting a good philosophical chat about the stars. His feet slammed hard, sweat flying off his forehead. His side immediately began to feel like a crab decided it was the perfect time to strike, grabbing hold of his side with sharp pincers, producing a killer pain.

But Amon ran through it, heart racing, driven by the need to feel something consistent, hoping that Calvin would not just throw him on the streets now that Amon's father was dead, or maybe still alive, Amon reminded himself hopefully.
He slowly began to lose feeling of his body, and although it continued to move, as if on auto pilot, Amon felt numb to his heart, to his vision, which was slowly fading to red.

Seeing as crying and breathing as hard as he was didn't go hand in hand, his oxygen levels were not at the peak that they needed to be hitting. Luckily, he had arrived at the store, the sign sitting imposingly large above the street, as it always did.

Amons jittery hands fiddled with the door, eventually flinging it open, staring up at the confused face of Calvin, who was eyeing his soot stained clothes and the trails of tears through the mask of ash covering his face. "C-Calvin!" Amon stuttered, words escaping him at the worst of times, tears and choking for air coming in again.

Calvin ran over from behind the counter, placing a hand on his back as he embraced Amon, looking reassuringly into his eyes. "Tell me what happened my boy," he tried to say it in a clam tone, but Calvin's twitchy eye said it all. He had the same twitchy eye whenever he felt terror fill him, and tried to hide it.

Amon looked back to him, regaining a bit of his composer, and holding out the tin bracelet that signified his mother. Calvin reached out, cradling it like a baby, ash staining his hands on contact. His eyes watered slightly, and face contorted as he tried to hide it again. Calvin quietly spoke, "a customer said he saw a fire over there, but I never would have thought... Im so sorry Amon, she was like a sister to me, if I had known, I would have been with you."

Amon wanted to yell, well you weren't! and storm off, but he knew that would solve nothing, and it would make him look childish. So Amon simply accepted the embrace, silently thinking of ways his mother could have dropped her prized possession. Ways that didn't result in her, or his fathers, ultimate demise.

[Amon Torque]

Summer 65, 505 AV
It had been a week. A week since he began to live with Calvin, a week since he had seen his parents, and a week since he had spoken. Amon's mind want working correctly at the time, he was stuck with his mind seeing only the rubble of his home. When he slept, he had wonderful dreams of his family being reunited, but when he awoke, he was forced to face the hard truth that life was not going to stop until he did find his father, if he ever did. His feet began to shuffle through the doorway, toward the central table, big enough for four, yet used by two, and before only by one. Calvin was still adapting from his isolated lifestyle, realizing that getting drunk and walking around in the nude were not exactly ideal situations when sharing his home. But so far, he had done a great job, by simply leaving Amon to his thoughts and being as kind as the man could have managed.

It was time to come out of the bubble he had made around himself, Amon decided, parting his lips to speak to Calvin, "is there any food around here?" His voice sounded deep and hoarse even to him, he cleared his throat several times, trying to rid his throat of the annoying flem that built up over the past few days.

Calvin raised an eyebrow at him, offering a grin in exchange for his comment, "well, I wasn't prepared to feed a horse." It was clear the man was happy to see him talking again, simply trying to hide it through sarcasm. Amon's eyes appeared to be slightly glowing due to the light flowing into the room from window, the rays to reflecting and drawing attention to them. Calvin finished the task that plagued him everyday, tying his shoes with his usual ungraceful movements, yanking and grunting as he attempted to not untie the other yet still put it on, before surrendering with a sigh of defeat.

The patient eyes of Amon watched over Calvin as he left the home, returning to work after his absence from the store following the fire. Amon's mind began to return to action, promising himself he would not be his father, he would know enough to protect his loved ones from any situation, he had to. And if that meant earning enough money to buy herbs to experiment with, or spend ten hours a week perfecting shielding, then so be it. As long as it meant saving the people he cared about, or the people others cared for.