April 7090

Fields of Uxbrorough

He had never wanted to tell his story. Not to her, not to anyone.

He was happy to leave his past behind, to start a new life on that secluded farm nestled in the hills. He had fallen in love with the farmer’s daughter, a sweet and simple girl who had given him all her love. They had married, had two children, a boy and a girl, who resembled her in affection and him in perseverance. He was very proud of his two little ones.

They all had worked hard for the land, with some satisfaction, cultivating grain, fruit, and vegetables, raising chickens, cows, and sheeps, sometimes having to shoot at some wild wolf that tried to plunder their winter supplies. But they were happy for ten years.

Until that day.

They came to destroy their small piece of paradise, they had reached it too. An indistinct rumble came from outside. It seemed like a distant roar that shook the land. He approached the window and peered out trying to catch a glimpse of what was causing such a strong commotion in the sky. But he knew it well, only he didn’t have the courage to admire it again. With a rifle firmly in one hand, he opened the door and took his first uncertain steps into the warm prairie.

-No, that's not possible. - he was paralyzed. For the second time he felt his body tremble with fear at that demonic sound that brought him back to the past. He watched the sky darken: like a blot of ink covering the entire firmament. He knew well what those black spots rising in the sky were. He knew well what would happen soon.

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-That's not possible.

-“Mom, we’re scared! - the children had said, clinging to her.

-Don’t be afraid, we’re here with you.” - he had said, caressing their hair.

It was a silent war that had lasted for centuries, a war his body knew well, a war from which many, like him, had tried to escape. There was no time to run away, to hide, to pray. Only time to embrace each other, look into each other’s eyes, say goodbye. Then fire. The sharp pain of wounds.

Silence.

He woke up among the ruins, covered only in ash. He hadn’t died; he didn’t know how not to survive. But everything around him was gone. Neither his house nor his family nor his world were tangible anymore. Only him; condemned to survive.

He knew why he was still alive. It was protected by his body; perhaps it was a miracle or perhaps a curse.

He didn’t know what to do. He had no more reasons to live; he had no more goal to pursue, but it wasn’t him who decided the fate of life or his future and neither his God. But he knew one thing. He knew he had to put an end somehow to those invisible atrocities. He wasn’t sure if he could put an end to everything that had been tormenting the world for decades, but he was aware of his abilities and that with them, even if only for a while, he would have been able to do some good.

So he got up. He armed himself with the only thing he had: his rifle, and would start over again. He set off on foot towards the nearest city, towards a new journey, towards another new beginning, maybe far from pain.