Ashes

The thick black smoke coursed its way through my throat and nose and choked me. Embers from the flames fell onto my exposed skin and singed the top layers. The ashes from the burning buildings fluttered everywhere in the town, creating a thin, dark veil over the sun. The acrid smell of burning brought salty tears swimming in my eyes, and I coughed heavily to help clear out my respiratory system. Distant screams could be heard along with blood-curdling yelps of anguish. I heard faint moaning a few feet away from me, but I could not discern who or what it was. Eventually, the smoke began to take over, and my vision clouded at the edges. My brain started to systematically shut down as it prepared for the final moments. I shut my eyes and readied myself, when I felt a pair of hands grab me and drag me out of the house just as the roof caved in and ignited everything inside.

“Serenity! Are you alright?”

A face swam before my eyes, but the smoke was clouding it still, and I could not focus. The raspy voice was familiar to me though.

“Mr. Onglash?”

“Good Lord, honey. Cough out sum o’ that smoke!”

He roughly patted my back and sat me up. I coughed and blinked most of the remaining smoke out of my eyes before I remembered the horrors of what was happening in this town. I leapt up and reached for my knife, but realized it was not attached. Turning quickly toward my hut, I began to run forward, but Mr. Onglash stopped me.

“Yuh can’t go in!”

“I have to, my family’s in there!”

I dashed to where the front door of the house used to be and kicked it down. A huge gush of flame billowed out toward my face and I involuntarily stepped back. It seemed to burn itself out quickly, though, and I stepped cautiously into the house. It was too hot to continue any further in, so I was forced to retreat.

I ran back outside and toward the lake that was about half a mile away. Along the way, I saw people trying to tear into their burning homes to get at loved ones. More people came running out of their homes with fire blazing out of their backs like hellish wings. The smell of burning flesh dominated the air, and it was impossible not to smell it. I snatched a bucket en route to the lake and ran as fast as I could. When I reached the lake, I threw the bucket in and scooped out around 2 gallons of water. It sloshed out of the bucket and ran down my legs, which was pleasantly soothing and helped me to focus greater on the task at hand.

I ran back to the town while trying to keep as much water in the bucket as possible, but it was tough. By the time I had reached my home, about a third of the water had found its way out of the bucket. I tried to strategically throw the water at the hottest places on my home, and I eventually got most of the burning to stop. The flames were subdued, but the heat and smoke coming from the house was immense.

I tossed back some beams from the ceiling and tried to wade through the pile of ash that used to be my home. After sifting through about two feet of ashes, I grabbed hold of an arm. My mother’s. I dug her out and dragged her over to a clean area of ground, then dove back in. Molten metal pots and burning linen clothing kept touching my hands and burning off the skin. I felt rough leather graze my hand and found, miraculously, that it was my pack. Inside, the two-hand length blade was unharmed, as was the metal trowel I used for digging and small plowing. I began to dig using this instrument instead of my hands, which sped up the process significantly.

Then I felt it.

A lump formed in my throat as I pulled my sister’s limp body from underneath a pile of torn blankets. She was gray and not breathing. I dragged her over to my mother and beat on her chest with my fist. There was no change.

“Clarity! Clarity! No!”

I held her close and sobbed into her burnt, sun-colored hair. I released her and she sagged to the ground lifelessly. Mr. Onglash walked away respectfully and began to help the other survivors of the burning. After I had given myself a few moments to mourn, I stood and surveyed the damage. The town hall and the surrounding homes were merely ashes blowing in the breeze. Homes near the outskirts of the town were not damaged as badly, and ones at the very edge were mostly intact. The center homes were unsalvageable.

Unfortunately, the attack had happened in the morning, when the village was mostly gathered to meet with the elders. My sister had been sick, however, so my mother had stayed home to care for her. The villagers near the outskirts had begun to make their way toward the town hall, so many of them were killed initially when the men rode in on horseback. The others were burned to death with flame. The elders were surely dead, as were anyone else who had been forced into the town hall before the attackers set fire to the entire village as a warning to nearby villages. About fifteen of the one-hundred and fifty villagers were still alive, including Mr. Onglash and myself. The survivors cried to each other and helped sift through the rubble to find the bodies so that they could be properly buried in the family plots that were hand-dug by the eldest boy.

This town is in ruins.