Haru waited for what felt like an eternity, crouched inside the cramped cab of the crane. The images of the incident that happened moments ago just kept flashing in his mind: his mum's lifeless body, his dad overtaken by flames, now motionless like a grotesque statue impaled by metal rods. What had even happened? His mind reeled, unable to comprehend the horror.

He could hear sirens wailing in the distance, but he didn't dare move. Time seemed to stretch infinitely, each second laden with a weight of terror and confusion. Around thirty minutes later, a flashlight beam cut through the darkness, growing brighter as it approached the crane cab. Haru's breath hitched as the light shone directly into his hiding place.

An officer arrived at the scene, the remnants of smoke lingering in the air. He hurried to check on the impaled body, his expression one of shock and disbelief. There were no burn marks on that figure; his clothes had been burned away, leaving his skin unscathed, save for the fatal wounds of impalement. The officer quickly called for reinforcements, his voice tense with urgency. Only then did he notice Haru, curled up and trembling inside the crane cab.

He rushed to the other side of the cab, opening the door and carefully lifting Haru out, hugging him and carrying him on his lap. "Hey, kiddo, it's okay. You're safe now," the officer said gently, his voice a soothing balm in the chaos. Finally finding some comfort, Haru just kept crying, his small body trembling with each sob.

The officer carried Haru to a waiting police car, where he was gently placed in the back seat. As the car sped towards the station, the flashing red and blue lights cast shadows inside. Haru sat motionless, the events replaying in his mind like a relentless nightmare. The police station, usually a place of order and safety, felt cold and intimidating. The stark fluorescent lights made everything seem harsher, less forgiving.

In a small, sterile room, officers asked Haru questions, their voices gentle yet probing. But Haru couldn't process anything. The words swirled around him like a distant echo, meaningless against the backdrop of his trauma. His eyes were vacant, his responses monosyllabic at best. He sat there, numb, until his aunt arrived.

In a small, sterile room, the officers asked Haru questions. The room was almost oppressive in its starkness, with a single table and a couple of hard, plastic chairs. One wall had a large, dark window, the kind Haru had seen in movies, where people could watch from the other side without being seen. The cold, impersonal feel of the room only added to his sense of isolation. The words swirled around him like a distant echo, meaningless against the backdrop of his trauma. His eyes were vacant, his responses monosyllabic at best. He sat there, numb, until his aunt arrived.

Aunt Miko, a slender woman with kind eyes, rushed in and immediately pulled Haru into a tight embrace. "Haru, my sweet boy," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. She held him close, her warmth providing a fragile sense of security.

"I’m here, Haru. I’m here," she repeated softly, her hands gently brushing his hair away from his damp face.

She signed some papers before taking him to her home, a couple of kilometres away. The journey was a blur for Haru, his mind a fog of shock and exhaustion. Miko’s home was quiet and serene, the soft glow of lamps casting a warm, golden hue over the rooms. The scent of incense filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of green tea.

Miko guided Haru to the bathroom, where she helped him undress and step into the shower. The warm water was a soothing contrast to the cold night, but it couldn’t wash away the horror from his mind. Miko’s hands were gentle as she assisted him, offering soft reassurances.

"Just take your time," she said gently. "I’m here with you."

Haru stood under the spray, letting the water run over him as Miko carefully helped him wash away the grime of the night. The gentle scrubbing was more about comfort than cleanliness, a small attempt to soothe his shattered nerves. Miko spoke in soft, calming tones, trying to offer any semblance of normalcy she could.

When Haru finally stepped out of the bath, his skin pink and raw from scrubbing, Miko wrapped him in a fluffy towel. She led him to a small bedroom, the bed neatly made with soft blankets and a comforting array of stuffed animals. The room was dimly lit.

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Haru lay down, but sleep refused to come. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of a nightlight in the corner. He stared at the ceiling, the patterns of shadows playing tricks on his mind. Every creak of the house, every rustle of the wind outside seemed amplified, keeping him on edge. The memories of the flames, the impaled body of his father, and his mother’s lifeless form haunted him.

As the night wore on, Miko stayed with him, her presence a comforting anchor in the midst of his unrest. She sat by his bed, her own tears flowing as she mourned her sister. Her heart ached for Haru and the loss they both shared. "I’m so sorry, Haru," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I wish I could make it all go away."

Haru finally let himself be enveloped in her embrace, his sobs eventually tapering off into ragged breaths. The first rays of dawn filtered through the curtains, bringing with them the promise of a new day. But for Haru, the light seemed distant and unreachable. His eyes eventually closed, exhaustion claiming him as the nightmares continued to dance behind his eyelids. Miko held him close, her own heart breaking for the little boy who had lost so much in the span of a single night.

A week after the incident, the sky over the small town was overcast, as if nature itself was mourning. The air was heavy with sorrow as people dressed in black made their way to the local temple. Today was the day of the funeral for Haru's parents, a day that seemed to cast a shadow over the entire community.

Haru stood silently beside Aunt Miko, his small hand clutched tightly in hers. His eyes, once bright with childish joy, now seemed dull and unfocused. He wore a black suit that was slightly too big for him, a contrast to the colourful clothes he used to run around in just a week ago.

The temple grounds were filled with the quiet murmurs of townsfolk, their voices hushed in respect. Many faces turned towards Haru, eyes filled with pity and concern for the boy who had lost everything in one tragic night. Haru barely registered their presence, his gaze fixed on the two framed photographs placed before the altar - the smiling faces of his parents that seemed to mock the harsh reality of their absence.

As the Buddhist priest began the sutra chanting, Haru felt a familiar presence beside him. John, his best friend, stood there with his parents. John's eyes were red-rimmed, his usual cheerful demeanour replaced by a solemn sadness that seemed out of place on his young face.

"Haru," John whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm... I'm so sorry."

Haru turned to look at his friend, wanting to respond but finding no words. The weight of everything - the loss, the confusion, the unexplainable events of that night - seemed to press down on him, robbing him of speech.

As the ceremony progressed, Haru went through the motions mechanically. He placed incense before the altar, his small hands trembling slightly. The smoke curled upwards, carrying with it the prayers and goodbyes of those gathered.

After the ceremony, as people began to disperse, John's parents approached Aunt Miko and Haru. Mrs. Wilson knelt down to Haru's level, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Haru, sweetheart," she began, her accent more pronounced in her emotional state. "We... we're so sorry for your loss. Your parents were wonderful people."

Mr. Wilson placed a hand on his wife's shoulder before speaking. "Haru, there's something we need to tell you. We've decided... we're moving back to the United States."

The words hit Haru like a physical blow. He looked at John, who was fighting back tears.

"I don't want to go," John said, his voice barely audible. "But Dad says we have to."

Haru's seven-year-old mind struggled to process this new information. Not only had he lost his parents, but now he was losing his best friend too. It was too much, too fast. He felt his breath coming in short gasps, the world spinning around him.

Aunt Miko quickly noticed Haru's distress and pulled him close. "It's okay, Haru. It's okay to cry," she whispered, her own voice thick with emotion.

But Haru couldn't cry. He stood there, rigid in his aunt's embrace, as John hugged him tightly, promising to write letters and call whenever he could. The Wilsons said their goodbyes, their voices blending into the background noise of departing mourners.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the temple grounds, Haru remained rooted to the spot. Aunt Miko gently guided him towards her car, but Haru's eyes remained fixed on the altar, on the smiling faces of his parents, on the spot where his best friend had stood.

The drive home was silent, the weight of loss hanging heavily in the air. Haru stared out the window, watching as the familiar sights of his hometown blurred past. Everything looked the same, and yet nothing would ever be the same again.

That night, as Aunt Miko tucked him into bed, Haru finally spoke. "They're really gone, aren't they?" he asked, his voice small and fragile.

Aunt Miko's hand paused as she smoothed his hair. "Yes, Haru," she replied softly. "But they'll always be with you in your heart. And I'm here. I'll always be here for you."

As sleep finally claimed him, Haru's dreams were a confusing whirl of flames, crying faces, and the image of John waving goodbye. His young mind, unable to fully comprehend the enormity of what had happened, retreated into a numbness that would take years to thaw.