My name is Cécilia Leroux, I am 19 at the time of writing this. I was born and raised in Straßburg by a beautiful woman called Marion Leroux and a strong man named Hans Steiner.
I lived a sunny and happy life there, often being allowed to visit Stuttgard and Zurrich as they weren't to far away from the farm that we lived in. The farm as most would call it produced Wine and also bred horses, I always enjoyed the surplus of grapes we had and the sunbathed fields. Even if papa had me do work for most of my day, I could always look forward to mama's cooking.
Enjoying cooking has always made me plenty of good friends, many of the soldier boys in the barrack nearby would come by and enjoy my cooking. I never really understood them but I understood their smiles, its always more than I could of ever asked for. It gave me purpose.
The summer were I was taught how to fish is when it all had to have a temporary end. Papa and I came back with a full basket of fish for dinner, it was late and the orange glow illuminated the wooden kitchen desk enough for me to start removing their scales. Papa came down to tell me that Mama was sick with a fever. An hour had passed and Papa went up to her room to give her the dinner we had prepared. He came down not to long after, followed by screaming. He told he she wasnt hungry, he seemed panicked. He dident want to tell me what happend, I understand now.
The days that followed the sun never seemed to shine as bright, the screams upstairs and groaning became more consistant every night. Even the soldier boys stopped showing up, I knew they were around their shooting training became alot more frequent it sounded like. I understood something went horribly wrong, my thought was confirmed with the fire that devoured the Straßburg. We left that night, Papa packed our clothing and our gun. He told me not to speak.
We took our truck and headed south to the north of Italy, I dont remember much of it. As we crossed the border some strange men shoot our wheels out. They took us alongside all that we owned, we headed eastward toward a port they said, atleast thats what I understood from my limited spanish. They were rough and mean, their smell still haunts me at night. We spent 3 weeks with them before we ran into more Spanish men, these saved us from captivity.
They unbound me and helped me back to my power. Papa wasnt as fortunate, he was shot during the engagement. It dident take long on the road for him to fall asleep, we left him by a tree.
Once in Greece we uncovered that most of the military had left to the sea, the men who were with me did not spend to much time mourning, we were on the road to turkey and the finnal destination was supposed to be Iran. Turkey was rough, the heat burned me daily and the people always yelled. I know it was at me. Many tried shooting at us, the spanish soldiers kept me safe,
Upon leaving the nightmare of Turkey we stopped near the city of Batumi in Georgia. I remember waking up outside the car, a loud explosion had woke me up. It was dark and I could not see much I remember being stood up by one of the soldiers, he was bleeding but he carried me. We headed north, he had heard of a detachment of Nato hours before that seemed to be located somewhere north of us.
He decided that we would go by boat, to a City called Cherno. It was called and I hadn't seen the sun a single day on the sea. All I remember was the blanket of fog that always surrounded us, he would always smile but he smiled like me. I felt sorry for him. I woke up to the boat hitting the shores, I was covered in a blanket beside me was a small backpack full of tools and a note. He asked me not to look for him and to reach out to nato.
I was alone, but I knew were to go.