SIRATHMA  awoke to find himself drenched in sweat. He breathed heavily, his chest pounding fiercely in wild defiance at the thought of death. Sirathma tried to think back to the dream he had, but just as it had been the previous nights, he found no luck in trying to remember what he was so afraid of.

He leaned back in his bed, the bed springs creaking under his weight. He had become too large for it, despite being only thirteen. Sirathma's father was a very tall, broad man and Sirathma would be no different when it came time for him to become a man.

He leaned over to stare at the digital clock. He rolled his eyes as he remembered that his clock had been broken for months now. Sirathma had grown accustomed to waking on his own; his nightmares played a very crucial role in this.

Sirathma could not remember when the nightmares first started. He had always assumed them to be a part of his sleeping ritual. He could remember awaking in the night as a small child, always terrified of these strange dreams. His mother Arayna had cradled him and told him that everything was fine and that his dreams were a farce meant to trick him into believing the most ridiculous fantasies.

And then the incident had occurred. Sirathma's mother had fallen for another man and left him to live alone with his father. Sirathma's father Vryken was a terrible brute who was constantly looting local homes and stores for whatever he desired. Sirathma was left at home when he was younger, but now that he was much older, he was forced to come along on his father's pointless endeavors.

Sirathma was often used as a scout to scan for any unwanted soldiers or guards that might be nearby, and his father would do the rest of the dirty work. Sirathma blamed his mother for his current state. He had never forgiven her when she'd left, and the nightmares had only gotten worse since.

Despite his father's faults, Sirathma had to give him credit. Vryken had never been an overly smart man, and had no other means of feeding him, and he had never harmed Sirathma; he only sought to better his life in any way possible. Sirathma loved his father regardless of his faults, and was thankful that he at least had a parent.
Sirathma frowned at the thought of the president's recent orders: all able to fight the Forbidden must join the army at once. No one knew exactly what the Forbidden were, and those who had borne witness to them were forbidden to speak of what they had beheld; that is if they ever returned from the so called 'expeditions' that the government had sent them on.

Every country in the realm of Ehecatl was on the move against the so called Forbidden, and as a result they had all banded together to make one giant nation. They called themselves Ehecatl after the world that they lived in, but its citizen mainly referred to their leaders as the government, as it seemed that they were the only ones with a say any more. Many had been executed when they mentioned possible answers as to what they were fighting, but still no one knew for sure.

Sirathma smiled at the fact that he had not yet lost his father to such a grim cause. He himself had begun to worry though, as more and more people were being drafted to fight. Ehecatl was experiencing the largest drop in population that had ever been seen, including: plagues, wars, and any other types of natural disasters.
Sirathma began to dress himself as quickly as possible. Though it was still early, he liked to take his time with eating in the morning. He used the early morning hours to ponder over what had been lost over the last few years.

Once dressed, he put his books into the sack that he carried to school each day. He was lucky, as his father's looting was successful enough to keep a roof over their head; not to mention their other necessities paid for. One would think that his father would be caught, but this was not the case. No one cared any more as to whether or not they were safe from thieves. The government had made sure to iterate that the Forbidden were the real creatures to worry about, though none knew what exactly they were.

Sirathma shuffled into the kitchen, stifling a yawn as he placed his pack by the door. He began to rummage sleepily through his pantry. He heard his father come into the room as he pulled a few eggs from the refrigerator—another stolen appliance. It had been hard to carry that one out of the house they'd found abandoned.
Many homes were found to be empty. Some said that they were empty due to the rampant amount of disappearances and executions. Treason was a common excuse to put someone on death row; the methods of killing those convicted becoming more and more gruesome every day.

His father grunted, and Sirathma knew that meant to add a few extra eggs into the frying pan that had reached a loud sizzle. He cracked four eggs and poured them onto the pan. He'd become very good at making food thanks to his mother's absence. His father had never known how to cook, so Sirathma had taught himself everything he knew. It came in handy on mornings like these.

He opened the cabinets above the stove and pulled some plates down and began to set them about the table. He sifted through the forks and knives in the drawer beneath the sink until he found some at a decent level of cleanliness. That was another problem: no water except on the weekends.

The government had ordered that water be rationed for the purpose of helping the cause. The Forbidden were growing stronger every day, or so they said. Sirathma had grown used to filling a large bucket at the start of every week and making do with just that amount. He would use smaller buckets in different areas of the house when needed. He had learned to force flush toilets after it reached a certain level, and he had learned to use as little water possible when bathing.

His father claimed that the whole Forbidden business was a lie; he believed that something else was occurring. He was quite the nosy individual, and he was always looking for evidence to the contrary of what the government said. Sirathma feared that his father might be pinned for treason.

"Here you go," Sirathma announced as he slid the eggs off the frying pan and onto his father's plate.
He went around the table and slid the remaining two onto his plate before returning to the stove to turn it off and set the pan aside.

"Thanks, son," his father mumbled. "You have school, yes?"

"Yes, but we are releasing early today. Something about some sort of announcement. They're lowering the draft age, from what I understand."

"Damn. Next thing you know, and they'll be drafting you too," he said sarcastically.

"Actually, I did hear rumors that they are considering bringing the age down to as far as thirteen," Sirathma said grimly.

Vryken's eyes widened and he stopped chewing. He stared at his son to see if there was a glimmer of a joke in his eyes. When he realized that Sirathma was serious he frowned.

"I'll be darned before they take you. You're too smart of a boy to be wasting your blood. I'll go to the stake to be burned if it comes down to it. The way they're going, and they might as well bring that method of execution back. You can't even talk slightly bad about our government; our president. They're all corrupt I tell you," Vryken complained.

"I know, Dad. There's nothing I can do. Hopefully my grades will keep me out of the draft. I have no desire to be fighting something I don't even think exists."

"Well, good. You keep those grades up then, you hear? Nothing less than an 'A', or I'll be skinning your hide. And, by the way, we have another robbery planned tonight. We have more deserters next door. Yes, my son, our very neighbors are going to be executed. So, this should be more of a free-for-all rather than a robbery," Vryken revealed.

"Great," Sirathma mumbled, shoveling his last egg down his throat.