Aric Calvert: Fyre Fight Prologue: a letter lost The letter was written over ages and ages beyond what I could perceive. The parchment felt fragile, yet the Ink was still black as coals . My fingers slowly traced the finely penned letters and the words they so delicately formed. The sunlight shone brightly through the window above me, and onto the depressing note. My name is Aric Calvert, and I am now an orphan. At fifteen I am but a year away from being able to emancipate myself. I doubt I will ever find a family. Stuff like that just doesn't happen to an oldie like me. The letter was a will and testament from my great-grandfather. It stated that once I attain adulthood, at the non-adoptable age of eighteen, that I have an estate worth money reaching far beyond what I am Willing to count. " Aric, it's time to leave." My case worker, a dull-looking grey haired woman named Jillian, with her hair tightly choked by a scrunch, and her dress a horrendous shade of boring grey, stalked downstairs, her heels clacking importantly down the deep staircase into the foyer below me. I sigh resignedly, and then reach for my satchel, and place a silver laptop and a journal that I had gotten from a previous birthday already years behind me, inside the bag. I pocket a phone, and an expensive MP3 player into my jacket pockets, taking care to wrap the headphones around it. I take one last forlorn glance at the room I was raised alone in, and tell myself softly, " No sense getting sad over a family lost." I strap the satchel around my thin frame, and walk slowly downstairs, tears already spilling over my face.