The story-tellers say that we learn history to keep it from happening again.
Then why? Why is it happening again?
…..
The sky is raining blood. Perhaps that should have been the first sign that something was amiss, but it flew over some of the people's heads. The next sign should have been fire coming from nowhere and yet, it appeared to be everywhere. Our final sign was the voice of doom speaking from the sky just like those old books had said.
"Take my hand, Aol-"
I took my mothers hand, but the rest of her did not come with me. I couldn't even scream. No sound escaped me. Why is this happening? I couldn't think up an answer - not when my thoughts were truly filled with the image of my mother hanging from the opened mouth of a demon. Its razor sharp teeth had pieces of her flesh snagged from the first bite and blood all over the front of it from when it ripped my mother away from me and left me with just her arm that was gripped tightly in my tiny hands.
A sob escaped me.
"Cry - for this is the last time you will be able to-" the devilish voice - hoarse and filled with illness - is caught off abruptly. I cannot even fully register the act of the demon and, subsequently, my mother being sliced before I am being lifted up over someone's shoulder. My grip on my mothers hand slacks and as this, this stranger takes off with me running, my grip only loosens. Until eventually.. I let go.
"Mother! Mother, please!" I cried out. I clawed, I kicked, and I reached. "I can't leave her!" The strangers grip on me only tightened. I could only watch in horror as another demon, this one bigger, steps from behind a burning building and crushes the remains of my mothers arm that I so fervently held onto. Blood pooled around this monstrous foot and I could not look away.
It didn't matter how many bodies we passed.
Didn't matter when we narrowly avoided crumbling buildings.
My hand and my voice still stretched out for my mother.
…..
I don't know how much time passed after the stranger set me down. I could not feel anything besides the ache in my chest. Ache for my mother and for a home that most likely doesn't exist anymore. Why?
"Hey there, kiddo, how are you feeling?"
A large man squatted down in front of me. He was covered in blood - both human and other. Yet, his blue eyes shone with kindness as they gazed upon me. I still couldn't find it in me to speak. Not yet.
He sighs, running a gloved hand through inky black hair while he pops something in his mouth. It vaguely looks like straw.
"That's alright. Take your time, kid," he speaks again. This time, his voice is softer and the kindness shifts to sorrow and sympathy. It makes me want to vomit and curl up into a ball. He moves away from me - he chooses to cross to the otherside of the room where a big pile of hay was. I note that we may be inside a barn, though I wasn't aware of any that were nearby the town I live - lived - in. We aren't home anymore.
I cry again.
The sobs wrack through my small body and I curl in on myself. My dress, the one my mother gifted to me for my eleventh birthday, is dirty and soiled from the gore and dirtiness of what happened in town. I couldn't find it in myself to care about the fact that it was probably ruined. It seemed to be such a small thing to lose in the grand scheme of everything I already lost.
"Why?" I croak out from my soaked sleeves. I peer at the stranger with hurt and scared eyes. "Why is this happening?"
"Because we haven't changed and neither will they."
I didn't have to ask to know who they were.
- Aol