That feeling when you’re a kid… When you think all your dreams will become reality. Like you’ll make a difference. Like you’re invincible. But as you age, more people will tell you their truths, their experiences. Tell you over and over to give up. Dreams are for the passionate, for the stubborn. Everyone else just falls into the cracks into normality.
It doesn’t matter which one of us is thinking this. We’re the same person, anyway.
When it happened, all I could do was reminisce the past. Think about the other, while clutching them tightly. Before the end of the world, we looked like we would be those people. The passionate, the stubborn. The person, no, the two, that would change everything.
Our father was an elite soldier. He taught us everything about fighting. How to use the technology given to us, and to protect each other. He told us that in the end, it is truly your strength that will keep you going.
It felt as if our mother was the opposite. She was so light-hearted, and fragile. She showed us beauty, and the mystery that were the spirits. She was a dancer, and a hell of a good one at that. Though it felt strange at first, she taught us her passion for the elegance.
As kids, we seemed like the show-offs. The kids that looked like the best at everything. We earned good marks in school, were the co-captains of the swim team, since no one could agree on which one of us was better. We were writers, dancers, martial arts instructors. We were only twelve. But that’s what this future did to you. You either excelled, or failed.
When we were older, it felt strange. We had to count on each other more, use each other’s strength. Everything got more competitive. We either fell behind, and have to give up, or trump everyone. We didn’t choose to give up.
It seemed we could do anything, but even we couldn’t stop our imminent future.
We weren’t even sure how it happened, but we remember seeing an explosion. The explosion that wiped out everything around us. Everything, but us.
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