To Live Is To Remember

What does it mean to be human?

 A being of endless curiosity, reaching for knowledge, yearning for connection. A creature meant to build, to protect, to love. But then… 

why do we destroy? Why do we kill? Why does violence always become the final answer? 

I only was ten years old when I learned that the world was cruel.

 My village was small, a quiet place where everyone knew each other. 

There was no greed, no conflict—just simple days filled with laughter and warmth. The mornings smelled of fresh bread, the afternoons were spent in golden fields, and the nights were peaceful under the stars. Life was slow, familiar, and safe. It wasn’t perfect, but it was home. 

But peace is fragile—like dry leaves beneath a raging fire. 

And that night… the flames came. A single instant. A scream. A roar of fire devouring everything I had ever known. 

I awoke in darkness, the cold stone walls of the empty village well pressing against my back. My body ached. My throat was dry. The distant crackling of flames echoed above. I remember falling into the empty well on my way home after playing. I used to jump over the well’s opening all the time, but that day, I slipped and fell in, losing consciousness. I climbed. 

One hand after the other, I pulled myself out, gasping as the night air hit me. And then-- I saw it. The village--the only world I had ever known--reduced to ruin. Ash danced in the wind, floating like the ghosts of the lives that once were. The wooden houses, once filled with warmth and laughter, were now blackened husks. 

The scent of burning flesh filled the air. I stumbled forward, my legs weak, my heart pounding. Someone… there has to be someone. I called out names. First, in a whisper. Then louder. And louder. Nobody answered. I ran through the streets, my eyes darting frantically, searching--begging for a sign of life. 

But all I found were corpses. Lifeless. Still. Empty. 

I stopped in front of a familiar house. There, lying motionless in the dirt, was my best friend--the one I had promised to play with tomorrow, the one I had promised to watch the harvest festival with.

 Gone.

 A few steps away, I saw the elders--the kind old men and women who greeted everyone with warm smiles, who told stories of the past, who treated every child as their own.

 Gone. 

The grocer--the woman who always slipped an extra fruit into my hands when she had a good harvest--lay with unseeing eyes, her stall shattered beside her. 

Gone. 

And then--I saw her. My mother. Lying at the entrance of our home, as if she had been waiting for me. Dinner was probably ready. The same warm meal she always prepared, waiting for me to come back from playing. But she would never call me inside again. She would never smile at me again.

 I fell to my knees. My voice cracked. My vision blurred. My chest tightened until I could barely breathe. Then, the sorrow turned to rage. Why? Why did I survive? Why was I left alone to witness this nightmare? I clenched my fists. And I screamed. A sound of pure agony tore through the burning night, lost in the wind and the rising embers.

 The moon watched me from above, casting its pale blue light over the horror before me, mixing with the golden flames that consumed my past. 

I had nothing left. My hands grasped at nothing, my world shattered beyond repair. I couldn’t bear to see it--to accept it. 

I couldn’t bear the sight of it. My heart was too weak, too fragile to endure it.

Before I even realized it, my body moved on its own. I couldn’t stay there--not for a single moment longer.

I couldn’t bear to see the lifeless bodies of those I once knew. I couldn’t bear to face the ruins of the place I had called home.

So I ran. I ran, leaving behind the ruins of everything I once knew. 

 I kept running, my screams lost in the wind. I cried. I cried until my voice broke, until my chest ached, until there was nothing left but the sound of my own sobs. 

I cried for everything I had lost. I cried because no matter how far I ran, the pain never left me. I cried until the world blurred around me, until my legs gave out once more, and all I could do was lay there--empty, broken, and alone. I ran until my legs gave out, crashing onto the cold earth, only to force myself up again. I kept running.

 Through the emptiness, through the silence, through the weight of everything I’d lost. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t stop. The sky stretched above me, vast and uncaring, while the earth beneath me felt like a grave I hadn’t yet fallen into. 

I had no destination, no purpose--just the weight of my own existence pressing down on my shoulders. Then--I saw them. A silhouette in the distance, dark against the dying light. 

Faint at first, like a mirage, but as I walked, as I drew closer-- I knew. My breath caught. My heart pounded. It was them. The ones who carved through my home like beasts. 

The ones who left nothing but ashes and screams in their wake. The ones who took everything from me. Their figures became clearer-- light and careless, as if the blood on their hands had already dried and been forgotten. They rode forward, their stolen goods rattling in their carts, their weapons still damp with the lives they had taken. They did not look back. 

But I followed them. I didn’t follow them out of courage, or rage, or even a desire for vengeance--I followed them out of fear.

 The fear of doing nothing. Or maybe… I was just a clueless kid, with no idea what came next or where I would go. So I followed.” “I had nothing left to call my own, no place to call home.”

 Through the dense forests where the air smelled of damp earth and decay. 

Through the endless deserts where the sun beat down, punishing and unrelenting.

 Through the frozen wastelands where my breath came in ragged clouds, my body numb from the cold.

 And then-- a village. I watched as they entered, as thin arms reached out for the stolen food, But for some reason, the whole village felt lifeless. 

“The things they stole, the things they destroyed--those were meant to provide for the villagers.” Hands reached out for food, trembling from hunger, yet their faces remained blank--empty, devoid of emotion. No joy. No sorrow. 

No desperation. Just hollow shells of people, moving as if they had already forgotten what it meant to be alive. I watched as the monsters who tore my world apart became saviors a hero in another. 

And I realized--

This is their way of life.

 They kill to protect.

They steal to provide. 

For their families.

 For their loved ones. 

Then why? Why do I do nothing? If they can stain their hands red for those they love-- Then why haven’t I?