When one life full of woe has nothing but to cry,/ Another, full of fortune has the option to be spry./ In troubled times, someone may simply live/ Another, seeking trouble, at nothing will peeve./ One has the chance, for fun, to run around,/ From another, what's left is just a burial mound./ Not all souls at some point, life will tear,/ And burdens strong only a few will have to bear./ Yet those who do, if they survive, will prove their might/ And in their minds a flame of passion comes alight/ poem by @catz246
warning for mass m*rder Monty wandered held his mother's blood-stained shawl around himself numbly as he wandered through what remained of his village. Crying had seemed to take every drop of water out of him and he very much wanted to lay down. His mother was dead, he knew that. They were all dead and if he hadn't been hiding, he would be dead too. He knew this because he saw plenty of children younger than himself laying dead. He raised in head in a howl of grief like he had seen an older man do when a famine killed many two years ago. But it came out as a feeble rattle lost in the wind. He found a footprint left by one of the soldier's shoes and he grunted and stomped on it. He couldn't spit, so he resorted to kicking mud on it. He was hungry but their foodstores had been raided. He dug through it for crumbs of anything. All their goats and cattle had been taken and all that was left were the bodies of the dead. The soldiers had left the temple untouched though they had killed the priest. so Monty went inside and shakily he tried to light some candles but he couldn't manage. The many faced divinity was in the form of a statue of a woman wth outstretched arms. Monty climbed into those arms although he would have been yelled at and punished for it before. He wished someone would come and drag him out by his ear and call him a nasty, dirty little boy, and make him do all the nasty chores. But no one came. It was just him and the dvinity. And being held by it wasn't even close to being held by a human. He stared up at the heavens painted onto the ceiling and prayed for guidance from the many faced divinity and from the one most high. "Haven't we been good? Why didn't you protect us? what can I do to make you help me?" No answer came but he lay there for a while. His body was exhausted but he couldn't sleep. After a while he had to shift his weight and the graveyard came into his view. Well, that was it then right? Bodies have to go in the graveyard. It was always a priest and elders and the head of the village who buried the dead. Not an eight year old boy. He kicked the statue. "It's not fair!" he shouted. This caused him to fall a few feet off the statue and land on his butt. It also filled him with dread because what if he had made the most high one or the many faced divinity angry. He bowed hastily and got out of the temple. He found a shovel and he started digging. Two bodies buried, his hands broken with blisters. He wrapped his hand in the leather apron of the tinsmith. They were difficult to work with and made it go slower. Three bodies. he was so tired and felt like he would blow away in the wind. He took a breath and tried to numb himself. He began to dig another hole because he couldn't give up and nobody else would bury them or honor them. He didn't know how to do a funeral. He didn't know how to live without them. Karush was driving his rickety old wagon down the road and he came to a village which had clearly been massacred. He sighed and took off his hat. He was going to pass it by but he just couldn't. He checked his knife and grabbed his club. Then after tying his horse, he went carefully into the village. He covered his mouth in silent horror at the bodies, though he wasn't surprised. His village had been spared but many hadn't. He wandered sick with the evil that humans could inflict on one another and he nearly tripped over a little boy hugging a shovel. At first he thought the boy was dead too. But then he saw his fingers move weakly as if to grab mud. "gehhh, ggg, rrrrahhhh," the boy groaned. Karush carefully set down his weapons and knelt in the mud next to the boy. "Are you burying them?" "Go..." the boy rasped. His mouth was covered in dirt and slimy bits of what seemed to be worms. Karush went into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out a piece of jerky. The boy's glazed eyes seemed to brighten just a little. His hand opened and closed a little but he didn't dare reach for it. Karush tried to hand it to him, but the boy backed away. So Karush tossed it to him. The boy picked it up and ate. He bowed and cried with relief. Karush gave him another piece. "The most high one has saved me. He let everyone else die but he sent you to save me and I don't know why." Karush offered him water. "Let's not try to think about why. Do you have anywhere to go?" Monty just shook his head. "well then, I guess the most high one really did send me to save you. You can come in my wagon with me. I have more food and I will take you somewhere safe. "I can't leave them," the boy choked. "I haven't finished burying them."
