I always knew this day would come. My mother told me about it, and my siblings talked about it a lot. And they had disappeared, one by one, just as we all knew would happen. I don't think it made it any easier when the day finally did come. In fact, I'm sure it didn't. I'm sure it would have been better if I had never known about this, about this terrible destiny we all shared. The terror just built up. And the worst part was the waiting. Endless waiting. None of us ever knew when it would finally happen. Every one of us would eventually disappear.

No one knew what happened after that, but there were stories. All of them involved terrible injury and pain. There were rumours that some who disappeared were ok for a long time, but no one really knew. Mostly the stories were about a sudden strike, suddenly being torn apart, suddenly being broken in half. Stories so gruesome that when you heard them, you didn't fully comprehend. You didn't want to comprehend, so you didn't.

Maybe some got taken to another place and were still whole for awhile. How long? No one really knew. Fate? I hate fate. Is it the actual fate itself, or is it the waiting? The terrible, terrible waiting!

We all knew we could not live forever. But randomly being torn apart? One day being there and then next day being painfully destroyed?