Quote:
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Originally Posted by amonkie
YOUR CHALLENGE
Write a piece in the style of your choosing, including this line "Blood and death are waiting like a raven in the sky" somewhere in your piece.
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I guess I should give this thread a try...
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"Sorrow and pain are wading through the fields like a lion on the prowl", said the old lady, pondering the soldiers wandering out of the plains and into her town. She kept her children close, the youngest nearly hiding beneath her dress.
Her small town was not unlike the others nearby. People fleeing from the larger cities had already worked their way through here as they scrambled to get deeper into the country. The men often left their wives and children in towns just like this, where they could come back to find them when the terror had subsided.
It had already been a month since the first firefights broke out. The enemy had come across the border with a fury unseen through the history of mankind. The violence was so immediate and so intense that even seasoned soldiers could hardly believe what was occuring. Trained men fumbled about to bear their arms and find others with whom they could work together. Before dawn, the first city already lay in waste and only enough men had escaped to warn other cities and towns down the road.
Now, in the heart of autumn, it was hard to notice the beauty of the colored leaves that had fallen about her families small home. Her husband, the father of her children, was packing his most essential items in a hurried fashion. As he brushed past her he stopped, his face pale, his hands trembling.
"Blood and death are waiting like a raven in the sky, " he said, almost out of breath. The faint rumble of large planes could be heard in the distance.
He embraced his wife and children. He held them tightly, like a man who knew he would never see his loved ones again. He picked up his bag and stpped out the door. Before he could make it to the end of the road he let out a yell. His wife came to him and peered in the direction he pointed. The planes were quite visible now, and they were large. As the bombs fell, it was hard not to see beauty in the fatal dance they performed. Like tousands of wobbling metal raindrops they slowly tumbled through the sky. As they began to hit the ground, the sound was like poetry to the people in that town. It was a rythmic song and dance that surely spelled their demise.