To begin with the telling of this story, requires a certain degree of cynicism. Not to doubt the narrator, however when a child has suffered through the ordeals our procrastinator has. You learn to take it with a pinch of metaphorical salt.

ONE.

A wind gnawed away at her fingers, a new kind of biting, ripping wind that usually only graced mountain climbers with its hard presence.  Little did she know, this kind of wind carried not only blue, tingling fingertips, but a whisper of death, a slight yet ambiguous nudge of the things to come. This was the first time such a wind had ripped its way through the streets of Hemely, I have come to remember that this village is situated in a valley somewhere near the middle of the country. Unfortunately, I had to visit it more times than expected.

Our setting is of a melancholic era, bombs dropped off in the distance and hot snow fell from red-grey clouds. Yet still, the residents ploughed on. Not much to be done, admittedly, herding the livestock, fruit picking (and stealing), milking, singing, preaching, sweeping, waving. All a day-to-day life for those simple enough to have nothing else to care for.

I digress. Thoroughly.

A fresh set had just hit the town, around ten miles to the east. The smoke easily billowed upwards to meet with the black Swastika sky. It towered and watched as hopeless objects clung to the last scraps of life, something that it would happily gobble up. The screams rattled and ricocheted around the hills, bouncing off crag and peak to wind up in the ears of innocence. That was when the wind started blowing.

Before we delve any deeper into the happenings, I should introduce you to our procrastinator of this tale. I’d met her once before at the age of three, she won’t remember, to me, it’s crystal clear. She is of lean, yet short build, a mop of brown wavy hair crowns her pale, green-eyed head. Dirt lies caked under her fingernails, her shoes sprayed with mud. She must be no older than thirteen. She named herself Kay; however, she was really a Katie-Anna. For her own embarrassment, her name is Kay.

She was walking back from working in the fields with her father when she first saw the saw the towers crawling upwards. Her father wouldn’t hear her from here. Running forwards at a remarkable rate, she reached the streets, shouting and screaming,