Flames of War

As the orphanage went up into flames, the children died pitiful deaths.

The Dust and cinder that mixed and plumed as it engulfed the air killed them slowly. They coughed out spit, and stomach lining as their throats were filled with ash. Some were unable to cough at all and died with their throats packed with vomit.

Two boys walked resolutely through the sounds of death.

One of them was a boy with rusty auburn hair and resolute eyes. He walked with fierce legs through the burning air, pulling along a small child that shared his hair, but whose eyes were filled with confusion and sadness.

"Big brother, where are we going?"

The older boy didn't answer.

He just kept walking.

It would be hours before they slowed, but when they did it wasn't due to want. It was due to the call of death. With eyes filled with water and legs waddling from tiredness the older boy slowed considerably. He looked behind at his little brother and with grit forced his legs to move. He stepped once , he stepped twice, then fell to the ground.

He moved no more.

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"Brother.

Hey big brother.

Why aren't you moving.

Hey big brother.

Hey.

You're not dead are you.

Hey big brother.

Hey

Hey

Hey

Big brother.

Please don't leave me.

I don't want to be alone. "

Snot and tears fell together. Sobs and sniffles joined in tandem. A wail of sadness mixed with a symphony of dispair that would continue on for as long as they could.

Until he too was unable to move any further.

The boy fell still.

If the boy had died here, the story would've been for the better.

A princesses would've been spared.

A king would've been made.

A city would still stand.

A ruffian would've been caught.

A nation would know peace.

A soldier would've found solidarity.

A spider would've met his goal.

A messenger would've got the girl.

A sinner would've been redeemed.

It would've if not for-

"Hey, Broney there's more over here"

'Hak Sput.' a puddle of spit hit the scorched field as a scraggly looking man waddled up with britches that fell loosely from his waist and a sword whose hilt was too oily to properly grab. He ran a dirty hand over his face then blinked twice before rubbing his eyes.

"Oi Broney ! This one's alive! "

Thus fate changed for the worse.