Decent: Pt III: Precursor

I remember the world as it was; before the war.  I never had a reason to care for anything except my own future.  Nothing else in the world quite mattered yet; I couldn't understand politics,I didn't know why things became so expensive, then suddenly became cheap again, I couldn't comprehend just why my parents always complained about not having enough money; we had a roof over our heads, water in the sinks and showers, and enough electricity for me to watch Tom and Jerry after school when I got home.  However, my condition didn't make things any easier.
By the time I reached middle school, I dearly felt sorry for my parents, having to put up with that, though the older i got, the more subdued my condition seemed to become.  But on the off occasion that did bubble to the surface again, my fits were violent..  My medications also helped. . . every now and again.  People used to think I was normal, too, until they found out about my condition, or until they saw me lapse into one of my fits.  It used to scare the other kids, but they didn't know fear like I did.
Whenever I would lapse into a fit at home, my dad would always hold me; he'd stop whatever he was doing immediately and rush to me.  He would hold my hands with one of his enormous hands, and wrap his other arm around me, or stroke my hair and kiss my forehead or kiss the back of my head while he held me in his arms.  It didn't stop them, but it helped me calm down enough to get through them.  My parents cried a lot when they sent me to school, too; I think they knew what kind of a life was destined for me.  How mean other children can be.  Especially when they don't know anything about you.


I remember the time before the war.  People feared unreasonably-- they truly had nothing to fear.  They merely had the liberty of being able to fear.  People were picky with the food they ate because they had the liberty to.  They simply threw out things that I would kill for now. . . things that people do kill for now.  People were gluttonous with their food because they had so much, and what they did not find fit for consumption, they threw out.  I never used to think much of it before the war.  Neither did anyone else.  But in desolation. . . in the aftermath of the height of society, I would be left to starve.  We all would. . .
Survival--rather, the thought of survival, for us, was to eat what was so readily available.  We did not know what it meant to starve, He and I.  We didn't know the definition of survival.  And in a place where only people dwell, how could one know how to survive? Simply stated, reader; in our condition, odds of survival were against us.