Hello! Thank you for checking out this story! Before we get started, I just wanted to give out some warnings: swearing, violence, OC (Mexico), and Canada is slightly OOC, more warnings to come?
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(Prologue)
Foreign shouting plagued the air; it was a cry of war maybe, or perhaps it was them cruelly rejoicing their victory over their small tribe, none was certain for the children. If one were to listen close enough, they may hear the echoes of laughter. However, they had no such pleasures of being able to notice such details. Their rapid heartbeats, and the crackles of the fires raging only moments away, became increasingly louder and louder, exceeding any other noises. The frightened students clung to one another, in seek of fruitless comfort and protection.
The door flung open. A dark figure stood. The children could only see the silhouette of the person standing in the doorway, and the flames which danced behind them. Pleading screams and sobbing filled the small school building.
A voice stood out above the screams. "Please!" a young girl begged in her native tongue, "I don't want to die!" The others' cries echoed louder.
The intruder closed the door behind them, revealing themselves as their teacher, Minnehaha. She rushed towards them, whilst holding a charred, soot-covered baby in her arms. The child was sickeningly black as coal, as if someone had put it over an open flame and burnt him. The children immediately quietened at the horrific sight, believing the baby was dead. The swiftly child proved them wrong with an ear-piercing cry.
Minnehaha looked over her students angrily. "What do you think you're doing? Be quiet! If I were one of them, do you think I would spare your lives simply because you asked?" she rebuked. The students shrunk away from her, inching closer to the walls they were huddled against. Exasperated, the teacher sighed, and shook her head.
Ignoring their questioning looks, she sat down on against the wall next to them, holding the crying baby in her lap. She softly stroked the back of his head, in an futile attempt to comfort him. His tears streamed down his face, leaving trails in the thick layer of ash. Every few seconds, he would cough violently, trying to expel the smoke from his tiny lungs.
"Minnehaha... is it going to be okay?" the boy on her right — Aputsiaq, she believed was his name — asked her, very frightened.
In spite of his concern, Minnehaha refused to dignify that question an answer, and chose to remain silent. All the children were her students, whom she raised for years, she knew they were not as stupid to believe the child would live. They all knew the answer to that question, no matter how young or how old. To pre-tell the infant's eventual fate aloud would be redundant and cruel.
Her gaze trailed down at the baby sympathetically, carefully holding the back of his head to keep him upright; he looked pathetic, she thought to herself. She licked her thumb, and wiped the digit over the baby's cheeks, wiping off the little amount of soot that she could. It was a pointless action, she knew, of course. In the end, it didn't matter if she scrubbed him until his skin was raw and blistered, or if she simply left him covered in his own filth. The child was going to die just as soon, clean or dirty. But, damn it all if Minnehaha didn't at least try to do something — anything, to, at the very least, feel like she was helping the dying little baby boy in front of her. She closed her eyes.
Crackles and murmuring of the fire resounded throughout the room. Crashing could be heard; homes and buildings collapsing onto the foundation. The flames were getting closer. In a few moments, she knew the building will catch fire, and there will be no where left to run.
They would be able to hide no longer. This was it, the ground below them would be the ground on which they died on. It was their death sentence, a slow and painstaking, painful death of dozens of children and herself.
Self-preservation crept in her mind, and began to demand her to abandon everyone and flee. Without the children, she might be able to escape, she thought, she could weave through the incinerated rubble. She might lose a limb, but she might make it. Screw tradition, screw honor, screw pride — the people who enforced such laws were dead, it didn't matter if she forfeited her dignity for her life.
It made sense to Minnehaha. But as much as she tried, she couldn't actually do it. Pride and honor were the core of the tribe. To give it up would mean to sacrifice the values of the tribe, everything they fought for, everything they taught, it would be all be for naught.
So, she had to be strong — for everyone, for the children, for herself, for everyone who has lost their lives tonight — she had to be strong. Tears begun to well in her eyes, but with a shaky breath, she swallowed them back down. Minnehaha held the baby closer to her chest, embracing him as tightly as she could.
She relentlessly prayed, to any higher power that was willing to listen. She tried to recall the names of all the gods and spirits she has heard of in her lifetime, and silently cried out to them. If she was somehow granted the ability to protect these children, she would be satisfied. She would want nothing else for herself, and would never complain about anything again: not her daily work, not the children, not her family, nor her husband. Nothing. She could live the rest of her life dutifully serving others, and would never ask for anything, as long as she knew these kids were safe. She would sacrifice her life so they can have a hopeful future that she has never known.
Yet, in the end, it was all foolish thinking. No spirits nor gods answered her pleas.
All of them were destined to die that night.
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Well, that was light-hearted wasn't it? The next chapters won't be as dark, promise.
Wait, what's that?! Hey look! It's already up. The next chapter! Quick go to the next chapter now! Hurry before it disappears! Go! Go! Go!
But if you stayed to read the rest of this, congratulations, here is your reward.
(Below is a self-deprecating writing meme that you may or may not relate to pls enjoy thank)
Me
Focusing on writing already existing fic/editing chapters for beta-reading client/literally any other responsibility:
Starting a brand new story just because a plot bunny jumped in my head, and setting up for a 100k extravaganza I don't have really have time for, because I have no self-control: *yeets self at option*
Thank.
