---19th January, 1992---
Hello there, my friend. My name is Aaron. I was born in the wondrous land of Bosnia on January the 9th 1987, with my younger brother, Amar who was 3 and my older sister, Lamija who was 11.
My father was very hard working man, he would work all day and night on the small farm me and my family owned, we wasn't very rich and lived in a small town named, the Glamoc district. The area was very quiet and each day was as peaceful as the next, taking that new-found step out into the chilling breeze that was sensationally warmed by the rays emitted from the golden sun.
---6th April, 1992---
It was there, displayed before me. The TV report himself was presenting me with this jumble of words, saying,
"Dakle, došlo je moj narod. Bosna je slomljena u ovom ratu, napuštena Boga."
(So, it has come my people. Bosnia has broken out in this God forsaken war.)
The reporter's words were abruptly interrupted by the hands of my father, cutting the wire and the plug socket.
He leant down to me with misconception. He placed his hands on the sides of the upper area of my arm and started to rub them warmly. He started me in the eyes and let out a deep sigh only to say,
"Volim te, sine moj., Ali, moram izlaziti u ovaj 'rat' i pomognem ljudima, i naravno, moje porodice. Neka ovo bude poznato, volim te, kunem se. Za mene, morate se pobrinuti za tvoju majku, sestru i mladi brat , Volim te sine! "
(I love you, my son. But, I must venture into this 'war' and help my people and of course, my family. Let this be known, I love you, I swear. For me, you MUST take care of your mother, sister and younger brother for me, I love you, son!)
---14th December, 1995---
I awoken the next morning and stretched out of my bed. I pulled the covers over, just so it helped my mother and saved her the work. I walked out into the hallway of our small, enclosed house. I looked to my left into my mother and farther's room, where my father should have been. Of course, he had left for the Civil war.
Tears started to ascend from both of my eyes, they streamed down until they met my mouth in which I licked them. My face went sour with the distraught taste of salt in my mouth.
---8th May, 2002---
Reaching the age of 12, I was left to work on the farm. My father had been gone for the whole duration of the Civil war and beyond it's time. It was known to all that he was gone.
My mother had died 2 years ago, sadly. Her death was painful. Quite frankly, I wish not to talk of it.
---2nd January, Year, unknown to all---
*A static comes within a radio on the floor*
"Hello!? Is anyone there? This is Aaron Shinsky, my friends call me 'Company'. If anyone has acquired this radio, please help me! I am stranded on this, this land of hell! Please, help me!"
The sea rises up to the shore and yanks the radio from the sandy floor. It's grabbed drags it back with it's hands and abruptly destroys the radio.
The outbreak had already taken place, I wondered why I was in this horrible place. Oh yeah, I moved here for some fucking work! What a foolish move.
I am here looking for some friends or some kind of group. If you are there, please, please help me.