Hastings, 1066
Something I wrote a few months ago. Thoughts?
1066.
Smoke plumed from the fires still alight within the burning buildings. Screams echoed and cradled the darkness; pain infused every moment with its thoughtful betrayal. Twilight loomed on the horizon as the sound of thousands of marching feet reverberated through the earth, the trees standing sad sentinel above the ruin below. Smoldering bodies, timbers, and objects crumpled beneath the weight of ash. Sobs rent the air as the destructor moved on. The village square, a small thing once full of life and love, was now the dead breeding ground for worms, insects, and flies.
The once-happy shops lining the square, the lanes, and roads, frowned at the misshapen array of dark, rotting bodies, their flickering lights dampened by Autumn’s unforgiving warm rain. Animals ran amuck in the streets of their dead owners, reclaiming the cobbles as their own. A child’s piercing wail sounded from the east, the dark shadows standing at the forest’s edge glaring darkly westward. How had their town become the center of destruction? Could it have been fate? One brave shadow stepped out from the others, though not far. The glint in its eyes spoke clearly of hatred and disgust, but mostly importantly of confusion. How had it happened? Their vanquisher had come, saw, and conquered. Veni, vidi, vici.
The few survivors could barely stomach the stench and had moved out into the eastern woods, to safety. The Normans moved northward toward Hastings without even a momentary glance at the destruction they left in their wake.
1066.
Smoke plumed from the fires still alight within the burning buildings. Screams echoed and cradled the darkness; pain infused every moment with its thoughtful betrayal. Twilight loomed on the horizon as the sound of thousands of marching feet reverberated through the earth, the trees standing sad sentinel above the ruin below. Smoldering bodies, timbers, and objects crumpled beneath the weight of ash. Sobs rent the air as the destructor moved on. The village square, a small thing once full of life and love, was now the dead breeding ground for worms, insects, and flies.
The once-happy shops lining the square, the lanes, and roads, frowned at the misshapen array of dark, rotting bodies, their flickering lights dampened by Autumn’s unforgiving warm rain. Animals ran amuck in the streets of their dead owners, reclaiming the cobbles as their own. A child’s piercing wail sounded from the east, the dark shadows standing at the forest’s edge glaring darkly westward. How had their town become the center of destruction? Could it have been fate? One brave shadow stepped out from the others, though not far. The glint in its eyes spoke clearly of hatred and disgust, but mostly importantly of confusion. How had it happened? Their vanquisher had come, saw, and conquered. Veni, vidi, vici.
The few survivors could barely stomach the stench and had moved out into the eastern woods, to safety. The Normans moved northward toward Hastings without even a momentary glance at the destruction they left in their wake.