![]() Never worried that he was weird or didn’t fit in. He had the best smile, so confident, like he never worried about what people said about him. I caught up to my father, and he looked back, then smiled. I imagined those broken rocks as the broken bodies of my enemies, their bones shattered, their trembling arms reaching upward in a useless gesture of total and complete defeat. A lot of the rocks in the tunnel were broken and cracked, most likely from Krell bombings-things I’d experienced down below as a rattling of dishes or trembling of light fixtures. I hurried after my father, carrying a lantern to light the rubble-strewn cavern. I was seven years old, though in my mind I was completely grown-up and utterly capable. I was still surprised when one day, after years of listening to me beg, he finally agreed to take me up with him. I supposed by my mother’s definition that made him extra foolish, but I always considered him extra brave. ![]() Of course, my father traveled to the surface basically every day-he had to, as a pilot. ![]() Not only were there near-constant debris showers from the rubble belt, but you never knew when the Krell would attack. It was stupid to put yourself in danger like that, my mother always said.
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