Awakening
As a wintry sun glared over the horizon, its amber light revealed an unspeakable horror. Bodies lay strewn over the ground, torn apart, mutilated, covered in dark, thick blood and flies. The flies were everywhere, crawling in the eyes of the dead, in their rotting flesh. Bodies of children impaled on the spikes atop the wall, their innocent faces gone, blood and brain and pus oozing out. The bodies of adults, great slashes in their flesh as they lay so very still in the morning light.
Some stood amongst the massacred, soaked in blood, cut and bruised and broken. Their bloody tears glittered as they remembered the fear, the panic, the sound of snapping bones and limbs wrenched off. They remembered the screams that turned the blood cold, cut off so very soon as their throats spilled out onto the floor. The survivors had not survived, they merely wandered amongst the dead and the flies and the pools of dark blood. What were they but the walking dead, haunted by that night of all nights when hell had unleashed its fiends upon their heads? Some remembered the growls, the snarling, the quiet sniffing as the stench of fear reached its nostrils. They could still see the glint of its talons in the moonlight, the gleam of its fangs as it howled. They could still see the light in its eyes as it descended again and again and again. They had watched, huddled in the dark, as their friends and their teachers were slaughtered in front of them.
Some of us do not believe.
Some of us are dead.
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