ShenYu
Flying Hamster
W/
Mentallynot
The night was cold and abnormally quiet. The small secluded village that would usually be illuminated by torches, bustling with villagers as they call it a day was utterly silent and dark. Not a single torch lit up the place. The air was heavy with a stench of blood, dyeing the ground and buildings with its ominous color. The village that was once filled with lives was like a ghost village now. Even the cicadas and crickets that would usually sing their songs from within the forest, or fireflies that would add a mystical but beautiful atmosphere to the village, seemed to be staying away from this place. A dead place, as dead as the people that once lived in it.
On this eerie and dark night, next to the empty village, a young man could be seen digging the ground with a rusty and old shovel. He was the only living creature in this place, the only survivor. Scattered around the young man were small rectangular dirt mounds with a simple and crude wooden cross embedded on each of its ends. Those were the graves of the deceased. There might be nothing but crude and unidentifiable body parts to be buried. But to Ayre, it was the only thing he could do as a form of respect for the people who had loved and cared for him during these past five years. He might be the only one alive in this place, the only survivor. But his dull gray eyes were dead. The edges of his eyes were swollen and red, proving that he had been crying for an extensive amount of time. Yet, there were no longer any tears he could shed.
Ayre couldn't stop blaming himself for leaving that night. The village chief, the person that he had considered as a grandfather to him, was sick. He went to the city to find medicine for the old man. But he should never have left. He had seen the sign, saw how the night was colder than usual, or how the stars seem to disappear that night. He had felt the impending doom that might come to the village. Yet, he still left instead of believing his weird and strange conjecture. As soon as he came back, it was already too late. Everyone he had ever loved was dead. None of them survived with an intact corpse. Ayre saw his whole world break down in front of his eyes. He was in despair, wailing to the dark sky as he held the body of the village chief, not even minding how it made him drenched in blood. For the rest of the night, Ayre collected whatever remains of the villagers, dragging them to the open field next to the village. He choked back his tears and sobs as he tirelessly dug a grave for each and every one of them, trying to keep them as nice as he could. With each body he buried, the liveliness and cheerfulness that the village has given to him slowly disappeared. In the end, all that was left was a young man with a living body but a dead soul, mindlessly repeating the process of digging and burying bodies as if it was a programmed movement of a robot.
When the last body was buried away, it was close to dawn. Rays of sunlight burst from the east, slowly creeping through the thick forest into the village hidden inside it. But the warmth didn't touch Ayre's body. It was covered in dirt and blood. His skin was as pale as the corpses he had just buried. Ayre plopped down to the ground. How he longed to be together with the deceased right now. But he knew that would be a very irrational and irresponsible decision. He had to at least find the one responsible for all this mess and avenge the villager. Or else, he would never feel at ease.
However, when he roomed around the village last night, he found no clues that could point out the attacker. The condition of the villagers' bodies makes it seem like they had been attacked by monsters or beasts. But there are no beast footprints, claw marks, or anything that could point out what had attacked the village. Aside from the dead bodies, the village itself where intact. Nothing was out of place. He had no lead whatsoever.
Just how was he supposed to start his revenge if he didn't even know who the attacker was?
Ayre covered his face with the palm of his hands, not caring how it made his whole face covered with mud. He needs time to calm down, to process everything that has happened. Just yesterday morning, he was together with these lively and caring villagers, bathing in the warmth they had offered him. Now, he was all alone again, sinking back to the darkness that felt overly familiar to him.
The night was cold and abnormally quiet. The small secluded village that would usually be illuminated by torches, bustling with villagers as they call it a day was utterly silent and dark. Not a single torch lit up the place. The air was heavy with a stench of blood, dyeing the ground and buildings with its ominous color. The village that was once filled with lives was like a ghost village now. Even the cicadas and crickets that would usually sing their songs from within the forest, or fireflies that would add a mystical but beautiful atmosphere to the village, seemed to be staying away from this place. A dead place, as dead as the people that once lived in it.
On this eerie and dark night, next to the empty village, a young man could be seen digging the ground with a rusty and old shovel. He was the only living creature in this place, the only survivor. Scattered around the young man were small rectangular dirt mounds with a simple and crude wooden cross embedded on each of its ends. Those were the graves of the deceased. There might be nothing but crude and unidentifiable body parts to be buried. But to Ayre, it was the only thing he could do as a form of respect for the people who had loved and cared for him during these past five years. He might be the only one alive in this place, the only survivor. But his dull gray eyes were dead. The edges of his eyes were swollen and red, proving that he had been crying for an extensive amount of time. Yet, there were no longer any tears he could shed.
Ayre couldn't stop blaming himself for leaving that night. The village chief, the person that he had considered as a grandfather to him, was sick. He went to the city to find medicine for the old man. But he should never have left. He had seen the sign, saw how the night was colder than usual, or how the stars seem to disappear that night. He had felt the impending doom that might come to the village. Yet, he still left instead of believing his weird and strange conjecture. As soon as he came back, it was already too late. Everyone he had ever loved was dead. None of them survived with an intact corpse. Ayre saw his whole world break down in front of his eyes. He was in despair, wailing to the dark sky as he held the body of the village chief, not even minding how it made him drenched in blood. For the rest of the night, Ayre collected whatever remains of the villagers, dragging them to the open field next to the village. He choked back his tears and sobs as he tirelessly dug a grave for each and every one of them, trying to keep them as nice as he could. With each body he buried, the liveliness and cheerfulness that the village has given to him slowly disappeared. In the end, all that was left was a young man with a living body but a dead soul, mindlessly repeating the process of digging and burying bodies as if it was a programmed movement of a robot.
When the last body was buried away, it was close to dawn. Rays of sunlight burst from the east, slowly creeping through the thick forest into the village hidden inside it. But the warmth didn't touch Ayre's body. It was covered in dirt and blood. His skin was as pale as the corpses he had just buried. Ayre plopped down to the ground. How he longed to be together with the deceased right now. But he knew that would be a very irrational and irresponsible decision. He had to at least find the one responsible for all this mess and avenge the villager. Or else, he would never feel at ease.
However, when he roomed around the village last night, he found no clues that could point out the attacker. The condition of the villagers' bodies makes it seem like they had been attacked by monsters or beasts. But there are no beast footprints, claw marks, or anything that could point out what had attacked the village. Aside from the dead bodies, the village itself where intact. Nothing was out of place. He had no lead whatsoever.
Just how was he supposed to start his revenge if he didn't even know who the attacker was?
Ayre covered his face with the palm of his hands, not caring how it made his whole face covered with mud. He needs time to calm down, to process everything that has happened. Just yesterday morning, he was together with these lively and caring villagers, bathing in the warmth they had offered him. Now, he was all alone again, sinking back to the darkness that felt overly familiar to him.