Friday, February 19, 2010

A Melted Heart

He could see the smoke from almost a half days walk. As his eyes took in the sight of smoke a sense of dread began rising in his soul and his stomach churned. The nagging thoughts of the Roman butchers now consumed his thinking as well. His pace quickened and soon he was running. The faster he ran the stronger the panic in his soul increased. He must have run the last hour and the fear and terror only grew stronger. Soon the smell of the burning village was filling his nostrils and his stomach was fighting back its screaming need to retch. He knew now that he was only moments from the rise that spread out before home.

He stopped his run so abruptly that he almost fell headlong to the dirt. Getting up on his knees his eyes couldn't take in what was in front of him. His peaceful village was in ruins, flames still consuming, still eating, still gorging themselves on the homes of his friends. Very slowly he started to walk into the village. On the dusty road he saw the dead, mules, goats, chickens and fowl lying in the hot sun. In front of some of the homes he saw water pots, some broken and some still filled with water. Pots making a feeble attempt to quench the flames of death and destruction. The first body was that of a man lying near a doorway. He couldn't recognize him because the flames and the butcher's swords had accomplished their grisly duty.

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