That's what it takes to be a hero, a little gem of innocence inside you that makes you want to believe that there still exists a right and wrong, that decency will somehow triumph in the end.

~Lise Hand

I was only seven when I saw them.

Seven years old.

My memory is patched together piece by piece.

My parents, immense world travelers, were in Egypt looking at the three pyramids called the 'Three Kings'. My parents allowed me to go off and fool around with the daughter of our Egyptian guide while they took pictures. My recollection of where my Egyptian friend, Akila, and I went to play is vanished from my mind. But the next thing I knew, the town was deserted and our parents were no where in sight. Akila, aged ten at the time, hastily took my hand. She rushed me through the settlement in a flash to find our parents. Finally, three men in military uniforms discovered us.

"You have to get out of here; it's extremely dangerous!" I distinctly remember one man ordering us. But it was too late.

About ten feet from us landed a large mechanical cat-like thing, almost like a tiger. There was an older adolescent boy and girl facing off against it. Then, a large yellow robot thing came and, after a brief fight with it, swiftly ripped the cat-monster from its tail. I began to scream and cry while Akila was frozen in silence.

We ran.

Granted, now that I looked back at it, it was not the best choice I've ever made. As I looked around, my eyes were widened to the beings around me: giant robots bigger than a three story house. They were fighting each other. The town was in ruins.

Akila and I ran and hid in a stable home on the peaceful side of town. We stood in a back corner and wept.

"What were those things?" I remember asking. I have no memory of her answering my inquiry, only that of her praying in Egyptian. After a bit of time had lapsed and the sounds of fight had died down a bit, we edged ourselves out of the house and around the town.

We went from house to house, hiding. There were metal parts around the city and the occasional fallen robot, which we strayed from. Finally, we reached the edge of town. There, we say the young boy from before knocked out on the ground. The girl was leaned over him, crying, along with an army soldier. Was he dead? Dust was flying from a pouch in his hand. I remember a speck getting in my eye and, to this day, I don't know if it was what was in his hand or some desert sand. But before I could see if the boy survived, Akila ran out of the town.

I remember being reunited with my parents and Akila was with her mother. We were told by the army men later on to never speak of this incident ever again, to anyone. We were a secret. It never happened.

And that is where my story starts.

In darkness.

A mere memory.