They say the scent of death is one impossible to forget.

The sickly sweet scent of decomposition beginning to set in was almost more foul than the thick smell of blood hanging heavy in the air, it was silent here, too silent. Walls that were usually filled with the sound of laughter, the clinking of forks against plates, and the quiet hum of music from the radio were now painfully quiet.

The radio lay broken on the floor, sparking every now and then from where it was still connected to the outlet. Broken plastic, wood, wires, gears, and bolts scattered the floor.

It wasn't the silence that was the most heartbreaking of it all, it was the lack of sound where there should have been, perhaps it doesn't make sense. But should one stand there, in a house once filled with warmth and the heartfelt busyness of ordinary family life, suddenly silent, cold, and devoid of intimacy, one would feel it too. It was unsettling, in a way that was hard to describe, like a school at night is the best comparison one can draw.

Halls that would usually be abuzz with activity, and flooded with natural sunlight, suddenly drowned in darkness and silent enough to hear one's own blood pump through their ears.

That's what this was.

That's what all this would ever be now.

Amongst the silence, amongst the occasional buzz of the broken radio, and the haunting whistle of wind bellowing through the window left slightly ajar - there was the quiet trickling of liquid meeting liquid.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

It was deafening, suffocating over the sound of silence, over the wind and the buzz and the quiet lull of the streets outside, the dripping stood out.

It came from the closet, a wardrobe tucked safe against the wall, anyone would look over it should they take a tour of the house, no one would bat an eye. Not with the way the house used to be. Today, though, it was different. The source of the loudest noise in the room, was the boring, inconsequential cupboard.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

They say the scent of blood is one impossible to forget.

The sour, metalic scent of blood in excessive amounts seeped putrid into every room, there was no escape from the smell, not even the slightly parted windows helped.

Not even the closet blocked it out.

The dark enclosed space, the blanket of security the locked doors had once provided, it was different now. No longer the hiding space frequented in a family round of hide and seek, where muffled giggles once leaked through the gaps in the doors now came muffled sobbing. It was stuffy there, clothes that smelled like home, clothes that smelled like a mother's embrace held no comfort now. Not like they should. The smell only brought another onslaught of pain, another onslaught of heartache, what once brought comfort could only bring more grief.

The crack between the closet doors streamed light into the enclosed space, as a child, you used to find it comforting - that there could be light in even the darkest of spaces. But as of right now? You wanted nothing more than to seal the crack and lock yourself inside the wooden cradle until the end of days came.

Perhaps it was a grim thought for a twelve year old, to be so young yet know so much of death. No child should be faced with something like this, no child should be locked away in a dark closet as their only form of safety, shivering and muffling their cries of anguish from the outside world. To stave off fear, a child should be wrapped in the arms of the person they loved most, they should be hidden within a warm embrace rather than tucked away in cold wooden walls.

Other children wouldn't choose to hide in a place like this, other children would hide under their covers where it's warm and comfortable, other children would run to their parents, friends, or maybe even their favourite stuffed toy.

But you had none of that now.

You never made many friends, always preferring to spend whatever free time you had with your parents. The teddy bear, the one your parents had gifted you lay ripped on her bedroom floor. The stuffing soaked through, it was stained, ripped, and ruined. And your parents-

Oh.

Right.

Your parents.

Through the crack in the door, the crack that you so desperately wished you could seal, their bodies lay.

The warmth they used to radiate just hours prior rendered to nothing but a cold blue chill, from where you sat all you could see were their hands, hands that lay in pools of blood like a cliche scene from the horror movies you loved to watch. It was almost enough to make you laugh, your parents never liked for your to watch those gruesome movies, they were nothing a child's eyes should witness, but they were weak to your wide puppy dog eyes, they would melt and sink into the seats beside you, wrapping you up tightly and you'd watch the duration of the movie together.

A movie that you would never be able to watch again, not without remembering.

The all encompassing fear you stewed in now was different to what you felt watching horror movies, there were no jump scares you needed to worry about now, no creepy little girls with long hair and white dresses lurking round the corner; all that remained was the hollow shell of what the house used to be.

You couldn't stay here, you knew that, if not for the sake of your own survival than for the simple fact that you could no longer bear to be surrounded by the empty memories of what this house had once been. Your body was already aching as though you had run a marathon, the heavy set tremors that overtook your system caused your muscles to contract painfully. It took everything you had to uncurl yourself, body stiffened from the position you had been holding, not even you knew how long you had been in that closet. How long had you been mourning an event you couldn't change? How long had you been locked away feeling sorry for yourself?

It was moments like this that you needed your parents most, moments like this you wished they could wrap you up and make the rest of the world disappear. But there was no time for wishing now, you had the option to lock yourself away in this closet until you took your last breath and let everything your parents did to save you die in vain, or swallow down the grief and force yourself to survive.

And you had to survive.

It was with a burst of energy you didn't know you had that the doors to the closet slammed open, on unsteady feet you stumbled free from the closet and planted your feet on the frigid blood soaked ground. You couldn't find it within yourself to look down, to face your parents one last time, for you knew should you see their faces again you might never want to leave.

So you ran.

Even as you slipped on the copious pools of blood sitting atop the hardwood floors you got back up again, even though your clothes were soaked through with the blood you landed in, even though your muscles were still screaming at you from the position you had been locked in - you still ran.

And though your chest stuttered and your nose burned the tears refused to fall, perhaps it was the shock, perhaps it was the part of you that still refused to believe it all truly happened, but no matter how hard you wished to just let it out your eyes remained dry. Blood soaked sneakers slapped against the rain soaked pavement as you burst through the door and onto the dimly lit street, it was ironic of course, that it was raining - some sort of sick cliche. Perhaps an author might describe this moment as the heavens crying with you, you would only describe it as another unnecessary bump in the road.

At least the rain was washing the blood away, a 'silver lining' as your parents always used to say.

Maybe, in another life, this might've even been grotesquely humorous, the death of your parents on a rainy evening, running away from the scene of their murder in a dramatic fashion, why that was enough to mark someone as the main character. But this wasn't humorous, this wasn't some twisted little fairy tale spun by an overzealous writer, this was reality. And the reality was that there was no possible up from here, after losing one's home and losing one's family, what do they do from there? Where do they go? What stability to they have to rely on? Especially for someone so young the answers seemed so out of reach.

All you could do from here was run, to run and keep on running and maybe if you were lucky, you might just run to the end of the Earth and leap to the bottom of the universe. But you weren't lucky, that much was evidentally clear, with how horrid the night had been it was just another twisted little hitch in the story for you to stumble. Claggy shoes drenched with mud and rainwater squelching with every step only grew heavier the further you ran, perhaps it was the rain in your eyes - or were those tears? - but it was no surprise when the toe of your shoe caught the edge of the pavement hidden beneath the murky puddle.

Ironic.

It was the shock that erased the pain as you fell to your knees, the bite of gravel cutting into the open skin on your knees was the least of your worries, you felt nothing at all. Head lowering slowly after the wave of shock dissipated, a hiccuped laugh of exhaustion slipped past your lips.

"You've got to be kidding me," you choked out quietly.

You had just witnessed your parents getting murdered, locked yourself away in a closet in front of their dead bodies for hours, run half an hour through the rain and mud without so much as shedding a tear, and tripping was the reason tears begun to spring into your eyes?

"What a joke," you scoffed.

Shifting on your knees to sit yourself back on your behind to examine the scrapes, all you could do was sigh at the sting of rain water hitting the open wounds. This was so not funny anymore. Wet hands slicked back wetter hair and your head fell back to feel the rain on your skin, at least you could feel this, at least the rain could wash away the blood on your cheeks. Despite that, you knew the blood wouldn't go away, not really, you would always see it there; whenever you would look in the mirror, whenever you would close your eyes you would always feel it, and you would always remember.

--

How long had you been sitting there?

An hour? A couple hours?

There was no trace of sunlight now, 'a couple hours', it was cold, wet, miserable, your butt was numb and your fingers were pruny and this was still not funny. Even after all this time you had been waiting for the universe to turn and show off the giant, glittering "gotcha!" sign, wake up in your bed, and never have to have such an awful nightmare ever again. But while, for whatever reason, you still had some semblance of hope, this didn't mean you were stupid.

Young as you may be you knew how ridiculous this was, how waiting around for someone to come and save you was an immature wish, you had to grow up now and grow up quick. There weren't any parents to fall back on, no siblings, aunts or uncles, not even a fun cousin, the only person you had now was yourself, no one was going to protect you out here for free.

"So get up-" you whispered, voice raspy from disuse and saliva thick in your throat from choking back tears.

"Get up, get up, getupgetup. Stupid, get up already, get up"

Maybe it was knowing your parents would slap you upside the head for wallowing around in the rain, or maybe it was a deep seated power of will you didn't even know you had, but with a creak of the knees and a poorly hidden wince - you got up.

The first part of the problem has been dealt with, so-- what now?

"Now we walk"

To where?

"To wherever's safe"

What does safe even mean anymore?

"I don't know, I don't know"

Do you know anything?

"Not really"

You really think you're going to survive?

"I don't know"

You'll die out here.

"Not without fighting first"

You had lost too much, seen your parents fight too hard to let go without a fight, you had their wishes to protect, it was their child's life you had to save and you'll be damned if you didn't try your hardest. And so you walked, even though the wet skin of your scraped knees tore at the edges with every step you took, even though your muscles were aching and stiff, you walked. This was the town that you grew up in, you knew there was a town centre down by the docks, if you could just get down there and maybe see some familiar faces they might take pity on you. Give you some dry clothes, maybe a bread roll, anything to at least help get you through the day.

There was no time to feel tired, no time to drag your feet and whine like any normal preteen could, despite how exhausted you were you continued to walk. Slugging your way down the drenched streets until finally-- lights were in sight. The distant blurr of street lamps, fairy lights and dock lights marked your destination just a short distance away and for a second, just a second, a smile twitched onto your face.

Fatigue forgotten you picked up your heavy feet and jogged the rest of the way towards the pier, heart squeezing in your chest in naive hope under the sights, smells and sounds of the city. It was lively here, even during nightfall, couples huddled under umbrellas and locals selling goods from their tented stalls; people smiled, and laughed, and went about their business completely oblivious to the massacre that had taken place just an hour's walk away. You weren't bitter to their glee, how would they know what you were going through? How could you selfishly wish unhappiness upon them for the simple sake of your own misery? Even under these circumstances you couldn't bring yourself to be selfish.

Tucking your drenched hair behind your ear in hopes of appearing somewhat composed, you hugged your arms to your chest and slowly hobbled the dock-side market place. At least it was warmer here, even if the rain was still falling, locals and tourists breezed passed you without so much as a second glance but that didn't matter, you were looking for a friendly face, a family friend, a charitable stall owner, someone with a jacket to spare.

Though the thought of begging was a humiliating one, you weren't stubborn enough to believe you could brave the weather in your soaked clothes.

"Excuse me?" you spoke up hesitantly to a passing family, families tended to be kinder, they simply brushed you off.

"Sorry to bother yo--"

"Um excuse me"

"Sir, do you mi--"

"Hello?"

It was pointless, these people with their happy lives and their happy faces were too busy enjoying themselves to spare a glance at the beggar child. What a cruel reality. For a moment you wondered what your family would have done in that situation, would they have helped? Or would they too have turned an unfortunate stranger away?

Somehow even colder than before you shuffled away from the emptying streets and towards the only free source of cover you could find. Scampering over and huddling under the angled roof of a bulletin board, you counted your blessings, at least you were out of the rain. Teeth chattering and shoulders shaking no matter how hard you hugged yourself, you turned yourself away from the temptations of the warm food stalls. You wouldn't shame your family name by seeking the comfort of strangers so soon, people less fortunate than you could go farther with less, you would have to learn to do the same.

Shoulders hunched and head ducked, shivers synchronising with the chattering of your teeth, you focused your attention instead on the bulletin board you had taken shelter with. There were mountains of piled papers, new and old, overlapping and weathered - ranging from advertisements to missing posters and the like. However it was one poster in particular that caught your attention, a topic you had heard about only in passing, catching the tail end of conversations between your parents during late nights.

"Hunter exam..." you whispered beneath your breath.

You knew what a Hunter was, not many in this day and age were unfamiliar, 'upstanding' members of society that strived to serve either themselves of the Hunter Organisation as a whole. The verdict on Hunters had been mixed for as long as you could remember, the young kids thought they were cool, the elder generations considered them overpaid, glorified ruffians. Your parents never shared their opinion, they never spoke of Hunters in front of you and reasonably you felt no need to ask. It hardly mattered now, you were on your own and whether your parents would approve or not this was a matter of survival.

The one thing you knew for certain about Hunters was the wealth that came with it, a sturdy little plastic card was all one needed for a whole world of opportunities to open up before them. Hunters were the people the law turned a blind eye to, people that could do just about anything and get away with it, sit with the world in the palm of their hand and riches at their feet. Information would be at your beck and call, money would be in your pocket, when the whole world was against you and the one thing on your mind was the tragedy that had befallen your family- what else could you do but rip the paper from the bulletin board and clutch it tightly?

While you stood here taking shelter from the pouring rain, while you glared down at the crumpled paper in your hand your parents were lying in a pool of their own blood and you had nothing to show for it. Not a name, not a face, not even a voice to go off of for the people that slaughtered your family. It filled you with a strange sense of shame, it wasn't your responsibility to avenge their deaths, it wasn't your responsibility to solve their murders but why did it feel like it was? Who else was going to do it for you?

"Information....money..." you whispered beneath your breath.

From the outside perhaps your intentions sounded shallow, if people didn't know your past maybe they would turn up their nose and consider you another one of those so called 'ruffians'. But what did you care? It wasn't your duty to explain yourself, it was no one elses business what your tragic backstory was. You had a goal and nothing left to lose, what did you have except for this ideal?

Hazarding a glance at the bottom of the paper in hand, the date and instructions to the location of the Hunter exam were printed on the bottom. A ship would arrive at the docks at 8 in the morning, the ride would take a few days but food and shelter would be provided, it was best case scenario for a child with no place to go.

You knew nothing about Hunters, nothing about what the exam would entail, hell you didn't even know whether you were strong enough to become a Hunter. You weren't a remarkable child, you were smart sure, athletic even, but not special. Never special. The kids in the village were sure to remind you of that whatever chance they got, regardless of what your parents said you were more inclined to believe the other children. You knew parents sweet talked to save your feelings, you weren't foolish, you knew that you were a little awkward. Friends were hard to come by but you were content, you were, before all this at least.

Crumpling the paper in your hand and stuffing your hands into the pockets of your hoodie, you pressed your back to the bulletin board, using the solid wood as a support to slowly slide into a sitting position. Knees to your chest and head ducked to preserve as much heat as possible, all you could do was sit and watch the dock, all you could do was wait for sunrise to come.

You weren't foolish, no, you weren't naive, you knew the likelihood of success was one in a million. You knew the chances of getting a Hunter badge were just as thin as actually finding the people that had done this to your family with no prior information, but what else was there for you here? Who could possibly go back to life as normal after witnessing such a horrific event?

So you sat, you sat and you watched the docks till the sun came up and the ship appeared like a speck on the horizon. Your mind was made up, your fate had been sealed and life as you knew it was in the palm of your hand.

Nothing was scarier than a person with nothing left to live for.