The window lay open that one cold dark night. The quiet rustling of the desiccated golden leaves falling silently like a feather from the long-twisted tress, that looked over the old cottage on the top of that hill. You could hear the odd howling of the wind through the darkness of the trees covering the land. I remember the night it happened long ago, that fateful night, the fear that rushed inside me, the shivers from being left alone, left alone within the dark, just below the old cottage on top of that hill, thinking it had come. That we would finally pay for our sins. swarmed by guilt, destroying us from the inside, leaving us empty, cold and heartless. This was written long ago, so we wouldn\"t fall prey of this again.
I picture what my grandfather told me about that fateful night, that was written known to be written by the gods. He told me about the decaying bodies that lay on the cold hard ground, of the old dark streets, in the abandoned side of town, that is now forbidden to enter. People still say that they smell the fire, that burned anything and everything in sight. They say that they can still see the bodies just lying there. They say that they can still hear the chaos lingering in the sky from that night.
I was only young when it had first occurred when it was written by the stars. I only remember so much, the stars how bright they had seemed long ago, the clear blue sky, during the summer months, the white snow falling when it was finally time for winter, but as the time went on we grew older, the days became longer, and we lost everyone we had held dear. We waited and waited to see if that night long ago would appear and darken this land again. But nobody knows when it would happen again, only time will tell, only the gods have that power, so we will just have to wait. It may not even be in our lifetime. but whatever happens next I pray that we are all strong enough to survive.
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