Set & Release

When I was three years old, my mother was murdered.

I don't remember that day, but my father never forgot. Sometimes--when he had thought I was sleeping--I could hear him pray for her to come back. Whenever I asked about her, his eyes would look haunted and it would hurt me to see him in pain. I eventually stopped asking, but he never stopped praying.

I wish I had been more persistant. I wish he had told me. It could have saved my life.

*                  *                   *                  *                   *                         *                    *

The music from the bar echoed out into the night.

I pulled my hood over my head and clutched the edges of my jacket.

It was a bitter cold night. The cold would seep through the stitching of your jacket and bite against your skin. Most of the town was closing up for the night, but the bar would continue to remain open. This night was just like every other night for as long as I could remember. Children were sleeping in their beds, smoke from chimneys would billow up into the sky, and everything was normal.

The lanterns from Marlene's shop were slowly being dimmed. Before closing the shutters to the window, she gave a quick wave. I numbly waved back and shuffled home.

My father was agitated when I walked in. His forehead was creased deeply, his lips pressed, and he was pacing the floor.

"You're gonna wear a hole through the floor." I said softly.

He jumped but his face relaxed when he saw me. He quickly gathered me in a quick hug. He always smelt of pine and dirt from working the the fields.

"You're late."

"I'm sorry. Katie needed me to stay. Henry put an axe in his foot and I needed to clean up the hospital." I explained.

Dad's blue eyes flashed with humour and then concern.

"It was bound to happen. That boy can barely lift the damn thing. He shouldn't even be in the fields!" My father grumbled.

I laughed, kissed him on the cheek and started for my room.

"Goodnight Dad!"

*               *               *                    *

A commotion in the livingroom had me awake and grabbing for my dagger.

I quickly slipped on my pants and leather boots and rushed out of my room.

My father was yelling orders and handing out guns to the many people squeezing into our small livingroom. I shoved through the crowd and grabbed my father's arm. His eyes were steady when they met mine but something dark was lurking under the surface.

"What's going on!" I yelled over the noise.

"Get back in your room!" He yelled back. He tried to shove me back towards my bedroom door but I shouldered past him.

A scream split through the night.

The sound of shots quickly followed.

I rushed out of the house and into the street.

The first thing I noticed was that our people were everywhere. Children were screaming as their parents dragged them and carried them. Others were kneeling on the streets, firing into the sky. Gunpowder filled the air. The bar was on fire. People were trying to carry buckets from the well to extinguish the blaze. Smoke covered the sky making it impossible to see what was attacking our town.