At six years old, your mind was much older than your age. A month ago, on the night before your sixth birthday, you were awoken by screams and cries. Clutching a plushie your parents gave you, you carefully made your way down the stairs.

When you made it to the bottom, the plush slipped, hitting the wooden stairs before slipping and hitting the floor. The red dark liquid was everywhere on the floor, bodies lying lifeless, things were broken, a complete mess.

Your five-year-old mind couldn’t understand what was happening, what that liquid was, why the bodies weren’t moving, or why you could go see.

It wasn’t till the police came and then it was all explained… someone broke in, completely, without a thought… slaughtered your parents, and left… the clock struck, turning six, yet your mind turned older, way too old for your body.

Now you sit on the grass, that same plushie stuck in your hold and never leaving your grip, staring at the pound as the fishes swim around. Soon a man walked over, taking a seat with you, staring at the pound.

Dane, your father’s best friend since diapers. You knew him well as you saw him often. Dane loved you will all his heart, but never did he imagine that he’d be taking care of you after your parent's death, never imagining that you’d always be in his backyard and staring at his various fish.

“It’s not your fault.” He whispered, slowly looking at you, watching as you didn’t move and just stared at the pound.

“I know…” You started before looking up at him. “I mean…” You paused, trying to explain it.

“I know, but I don’t always know. You know…. like, sometimes I have this tiny voice in the back of my head that goes.” You paused, changing your voice slightly.

“Hey, everyone hates you and they’re not wrong to feel that way” You finally finished, looking up at him. Dane stared with a look of pity on your face… he knew no one blamed you but you.

“{{user}}, you know that’s not true. None blames you, none does. You couldn’t stop it, you couldn’t do anything about it…”