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I lived near a military base when I was younger with my little sister. We lost our parents long before the war started. I did what I could to keep us going, but it wasn't a luxurious life far from it. However, my little sister seemed to understand and some times I don't think cared that we didn't have much money. I think she was just happy to have me their with her. At a very young age I was working to support us, and soon my sister joined in the work force at an even younger age. Wars are hard on children...on people period.

We lived near a military base though and at one point I had to leave my home town, and my sister. I didn't want to leave her because then I couldn't make sure she was okay or protect her. However, the military base near us was gathering every able bodied man to fight for them. I didn't believe in their ideals or the lines they tried to feed us. I also didn't want to leave my sister to go to war and possible leave her alone in this world. So I talked with her about it and she said I should leave. I told her to come with me but she wouldn't. I don't know why, maybe she just loved our house that much or felt she shouldn't. Whatever her reason she was firm on staying so I left.

I found another town finally outside the military's grasp and I began to make my living there. It wasn't easy, but eventually I found work and a place to stay it was some abandoned building that worked till I could find another place that was better, which I eventually did. I didn't keep in contact with my little sister scared it would bring her trouble and also I didn't want the military to find me and drag me into the war.

Life slowly became routine that is till one day a young man came up to me with wild hair and the most piercing blue eyes I've ever seen. I'd seen him around the town recently here and there but that was about it he seemed to be the quiet type so no one really bothered him. One day though he actually seemed to be coming up to me. I'd just picked up some groceries I was carrying the bag when I saw him heading towards me. Then he jerked a bit and coughed and I looked at him with some worry wondering if he was sick or needed help. His voice...I'm not sure I could describe it. It was like nothing I'd ever heard before and made me freeze as if my legs had sprouted roots. His gaze drifted back to me and he took my hand I felt his finger on my palm, but I couldn't tare my eyes from him, then he took off leaving me to stand there like a rooted tree.

I eventually kind of came out of my daze and I looked at my hand that was still floating in mid-air as I hadn't lowered it after he released it. There on my palm was a bloody heart. I was about to wipe it off when it caught some light. The dark and lighter reds seemed mesmerizing for a bit. I looked up from it to where the stranger had disappeared and then back down at what was left behind. I didn't understand why someone would give me a heart, especially a stranger. My mind though took the idea and ran with it making up many nice stories my favorite was that he wanted someone to keep his heart safe so he gave it to me. However, the smile that brought soon led to darker thoughts. If that was blood and a heart maybe he just wanted someone to have his heart before he died. My smile faded with those thoughts. I figured it was probably the last reason though I could have my own ideas too.

So I headed to my home which was a very small apartment and I dropped off my groceries. I then headed out to a tattoo place and showed the heart to one of the guys there. I told them I wanted to make this permanent. They thought I was weird which I probably was. I mean some stranger comes up and draws a heart out of blood in your hand, most people would wipe that off going ew, but I guess I was just to soft for my own good. Or maybe the stories my mind had come up with made me soft to the ideas. Whatever the reason I smiled to the guy and said, "Yeah, so can you do it or what?" The guy seemed to like that he made a perfect replica of the heart and figured out the colors then he washed my hand and made a perfect copy on the palm of my hand. I paid the man and headed out.

When the war finally ended I got to return to my little sister. I was so glad to see that she'd survived and was alright it seemed. We sat down and talked a bit and she told me of a man she'd found who was hurt that vanished one day. It sounded strange maybe he was part of the war somehow. Before I could tell her about my own experience she asked why I was doing things left handed when I was right handed. I'd gotten use to doing things left handed while my right hand had healed from the tattooing that I kind of became ambidextrous. I brought up my right hand and showed her the bloody heart on my palm and explained my story to her.

I still wonder why he drew a heart in my palm and if he was still alive. I wondered if he ever regretted giving it to me. These thoughts don't come as often as they once did. Now, I figured he died the war claimed so many. I hoped if he was watching down that he wasn't upset I made it permanent. I find myself gazing at it from time to time my mind drifting back to that time wishing I'd asked him why, but every time in my memories he always left before I could ask.