Raining Flames
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- Parts 5
I remember it so clearly, I was sixteen. I was named Raven Wood. They named me this for the darkness of my eyes, how they were jet black like a raven’s feather, but tinted brown like the wood of the trees. I was just a child then. I ran through the woods with the other children. I went hunting with the men so I could learn and become a master of the sport. I was innocent then.
I remember it all.
I am twenty-three now, I am old enough to remember what is right and what is not. I am old enough to tell this story so that all can understand the horrors of that day. I now know right from wrong.
I know what they did was wrong.
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#388
nativeamerican
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The air smelled of gasoline and death. That's what woke me first. Not the searing pain in my side or the impossible heat coming from somewhere behind me. No, it was the smell. And then the memories hit me like the bus hit the tree. And I was rolling down the side of a mountain, surrounded by ten other screaming kids and three panicked adults. All of which had a ninety six percent chance of death. My eyes were open. My emerald eyes, so rare that only two percent of the population had them. And my throat was burning, and my skin was tingling. And all I could think about was the probability that I was dying. Scattered around me I knew were twelve other people with a ninety nine percent chance of already being dead. And I didn't look around to find out. Because I knew I was one hundred percent right.
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