My older sister was always the strong one.
Rowena.
When I was twelve, she dressed me as a boy so that I would escape Father's interest. Back then I never understood why. While she did the cooking and other motherly chores, I worked the fields and did all the outdoor repairs. In time I grew to love it. The skies and the trees were my friends.
I was 16 when it happened. I had fallen asleep on the hill with a book and nearly missed it. Our home had burned to the ground in mere minutes. For weeks I sank into a deathly depression. There were no bodies to bury, nothing left to save. The fields fell to disrepair.
Autumn came and then the cold fingers of pre-winter.It was either resign myself to a numbing death, or...live. I bundled up as best I could. Skinny and weak from malnutrition, I ventured out of our secluded valley.
And straight into a storm. I fell...cold. Numbness. And then an angel.
Her name was Shalimar. (to be continued)
*waits in anticipation*
*stands to applaud the bravery required to share such a story*
*sits back down to wait for more....*