Edited. 12/19/2011
Not to say my writing skill has improved or declined; but it most definitely has changed a lot.
So I decided to continue this story, but I have to make some changes first.
Thanks for the reviews, faves and alerts!
Squall looked at the sight before him with disgust and guilt in his heart. The village was unrecognizable. What was left of the houses were only grey ashes on the ground, charred and bloody bodies lay scattered on the dirt road, in the farms and at the doorways; evidences to their attempts of a failed escape.
The guilt grew as he took a step. There were children among the bodies. So young. If only he hadn't gone away that day, if only he'd stayed, none of this would've happened. The village he was entrusted to by his late father, the people in it, all of them who had such high hopes for him. He failed them. He failed all of them.
Taking a breath to steady his nerves, he called out a name. "Sam!" Sam was a bright young man. He kept working hard in his late mother's flower shop, spreading love in the form of beautiful flowers. "Rossie!" Rossie was a beautiful woman, working in a tavern. Men sought for her hand in marriage, but many people knew she had a thing for Sam.
Sam was supposed to propose to her that day. This shouldn't have happened.
He called again, but no one answered. Nobody came. He stopped and leaned on the ruins of a building. What or whom it belonged to, he could not guess. This was too much. Where was the life abundant in the village?
Then, he heard something, coming from the nearby rubble. He stood up and looked around, coming at a pair of legs, the upper parts of the body buried underneath piles of burnt timbers.
He quickly went to the pile and began lifting up the woods. When enough was lifted, he leaned back staring at the body before him. The woman was beautiful, fair-skinned and long-flowing brown hair. But she was already dead. Squall was momentarily distracted by her beauty, before snapping out of it by the sobs coming from underneath the woman's body.
Looking at her again, he finally noticed the child in her arms. It was a boy, no more than twelve years from the look of it. He had the same features as the woman holding him, brown hair the same as the woman's and eyes as blue as the sky. "Probably her son," thought Squall. The boy struggled when Squall attempted to pry him off the dead body. But it wasn't long until he gave up. Squall held the boy close to him, whispering words of comfort, even though he wasn't really good at it. But he figured he should at least try.
He stood up. Blue eyes stared from the ground; dull and lifeless, belonging to the woman whose child now lay asleep in Squall's arms. She was given one last look, before Squall turned around and left.
The village was done for. There was no hope left to rebuild it. All of its people were killed.
Standing at the top of a hill where he can see the village, Squall made a vow to the never let something like this happen again. He held the now asleep infant close to him, inhaling the scent of his hair. From that day, Squall was no more. In his place will be Leon, a man that will protect those close to him no matter what and without fail. As long as the child in his arm live, then so will he.
Words of criticism are welcomed. Flames, not so much.