2012 . . .

“Race you!” August giggled as she bolted through their suburban neighborhood towards the playground, her prosthetic leg making a clanking sound against the concrete as the eight-year-old sprinted as fast as she could. However, she was still bit a slowed down despite her headstart. She heard Victor yell at her in Spanish behind her as he fruitlessly tried to keep up and she snickered, unable to stop her infectiously cheerful grin as she skidded to a stop in front of the colorful playground with its blue metal swing set, slides sloping down from the play area of a haphazardly designed castle looking thing with several floors nad nooks and crannies, benches, all placed above a ton of mulch. Young laughter and chatter filled the air and the energy seemed to seep into her.

She loved the playground with all of her being.

In an instance, she was running towards the swings, plopping down and trying her best to kick her feet up in the air. But she was weighed down by the prostheses. It was a beautiful sunny day, one that seemed to infect everyone with its sunniness. But she knew not everyone felt the same as her when she saw her older brothers finally arrive, panting.

Sandro was taller than both of them, thirteen-years-old and already stone faced. Victor was only ten-year-soldier yet his almost black eyes gleamed with excitement and hope. They both had dusky toned skin, both had freckles, and both had curly, dark sandy blond hair that they had an impossible time taming. Victor was just in cargo shorts and a t-shirt with a dinosaur on it while Sandro was in jeans, boots, and his worn, brown leather jacket.

She didn’t look like either of them.

August frowned, thinking about to her dark brown hair, dark bronze skin, and dark blue eyes with a splattering of freckles. And most of all, her brothers had all limbs intact.

“August!” Sandro snapped, storming off over to her. “You need to stay close to us. I’ve told you this a million times. Why can’t you just _listen _to me for once?”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his irritated reaction and continued trying her best to swing. “I’m fineee.”

Victor raised his hand, trying to catch his breath as he let out a deep pant. “I think she managed to run past a flying hummingbird.”

August’s eyes lit up. “I did?”

Sandro raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Yeah right.”

Victor shrugged, rubbing some of the sweat off his forehead as he situated in the swing next to her. “I’m serious! It was a blink and you miss it moment.”

“Sure it was . . .” Sandro muttered in disbelief and stood behind them, beginning to push them both with ease.

August giggled as she was swung into the air, the wind rushing between her hair and fingers as she clutched the somewhat uncomfortable feeling metal underneath her fists. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires in the excitement and she let out a whoop, “THIS IS AMAAAAAAAZINGGGGGG—“

She heard Victor’s softer, quieter giggles as he was lifted off into the air, a smile on his face.

This was their life. Sandro took care of them. He did it without complaining one bit and August probably didn’t appreciate it enough back then. She probably should have but even as she was pushed into the air over and over again . . .

Her gaze drifted to the moms and dads at the playground. A few swings down, a dad was pushing his daughter on the swing, both of them laughing and enjoying life. At the slides, a mom caught her son as he reached the end with loud laughter and excitement. They were so happy with their parents.

So why didn’t she get to have her parents?

Her smile slowly slid off her face. She should have her parents with them right now, pushing all of them instead of Sandro being forced to do it instead. Their grandfather should be there instead. But none of them were. When she went back down, the question escaped her lips before she really thought about it.

“Where’s our mom and dad?”

The energy between the siblings was sucked dry and she could feel Sandro’s hand tense as he pushed her back up.

Victor’s smile faded and he went quiet again. he was always too quiet for his own good. Sometimes, August wished she could just get him to speak more. She liked listening to him rant on about animals.

Finally, Sandro answered her question, “Doesn’t matter. They don’t deserve to be asked about, okay? We deserve better than them and we got better.”

She would have asked what he meant. Except she kept focusing on all of the other kids with their parents instead.