The world is dying.
Falling to pieces, but maybe,
Just maybe,
Love can put it back together.
Or will hate tear it apart?
Good must arise.


3. Companion

"Isn't that a little extreme, Miss Francis?" Eric said, eyebrows raised.

"Heck no! You want to find your wife and daughter, don't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"We all got butts, no need to get all extensive about it! You just have to get your butt movin', what if they're hurt?!" Screeched the old woman, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

A hard, stone-like look settled on Eric's face. He imagined his wife, with bruises on her arms and legs, and a cut, dripping crimson blood, on his daughters forehead. He imagined the evil laughter, of someone cruel.

"Ah!" The woman cackled, then started to cough. Eric thumped her on the back, almost making her fall over. "I'm okay, I'm okay!" She said. "Now. Are you going?"

"Yes." Eric said decisively.

"One last thing." Miss Francis said.


"Can I come with you?"

Eric stared at the little old lady, who looked ancient, and was completely crazy. "Uh..."

"Thanks!" She said brightly. "Now, I'll get clothing and food, you get a tent, and clothing for yourself. And extra food if you have some. Pick me up at 8:00 A.M. tomorrow! Until then!" And she pushed Eric out the front door, and slammed it shut, chimes ringing.

"Oh lord..." Eric massaged his temple "My traveling companion is as old as King Tut...maybe she'll forget by tomorrow."

He could hope, but he highly doubted she would.

Inside his home, it was strangely empty. He took the broom, and began to sweep up the shattered cup from earlier, so that he wouldn't hurt himself again.

After he carefully disposed the pieces, he put the broom back in the boiler room, and started up the stairs to his bedroom.

"Time to get packing."

He was going to America.

To save his family, no matter what.

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