The Invasion

The Invasion, November 1705

It was the noises that awoke me, the shattered screams and loud bangs of weapons too unfamiliar for me to fathom. My little brother held onto my small frame seeking comfort that I could not give him. Even in the dark I knew my parents were not there. Their bed was nothing but an empty space of ruffled covers. They came like demons in the night, pale-faced, armed and wearing the strangest of clothing. My village was the last of the five to be raided and, just like the previous villages, the invaders planned on leaving nothing behind.

For as long as I could remember, I have lived in the coastal region of Aguada. My people live a basic life through farming, fishing and hunting. The day it all began was a day like any other. The sun had shone brightly, the birds had sung beautifully and the people were happy. Everyone had been fulfilling their daily duties, completely oblivious to the gigantic ships making their way dauntingly toward the shore like predators to a prey.

The first village, the one closest to the shore, was attacked without warning or preparation. The invaders came with determination and resolve to conquer what did not belong to them. Screams filled the air and bodies littered the ground. Within a short period of time, the invaders had turned a once lively village into blackened earth and my people into slaves. Those who were fortunate enough to escape turned up on the doorstep of the second village: shaking with terror, lost and broken.

It was not until the invaders attacked the third village that the news came to our village leader. By this time the invaders had established themselves in the land. The days had grown so dark that children no longer played in the trees, mourning was common and smiles were but distant memories. For days I listened to the council meetings of the elders from outside the doorway and my fear of these invaders grew. I had friends from the other villages and to hear that they were carried away in chained collars and cuffs or buried alive in mass graves or found floating in the river, made my knees weak with dread.

I was not surprised to hear the announcement that we would go to war; defense was inevitable. However, I was startled when my father took me aside and pushed his spear into my hand. He gave me a sad look, as sad as a father sending his little son to his death could.

In the end, I remember very little of the battle; only my lack of courage and my mother clutching onto my little brother's lifeless body. I was dragged along with the few that made it out alive and, though we do not know where we were going, we will always remember what we have left behind.