The killing field surrounded her as if she was in the eye of the storm. Bodies strewn all over, stabbed, shot, burnt. Not another living soul was in sight. Fallen comrades in arms were strewn among the remains of their enemies. It was a miracle that she was alive considering how much of her own blood stained the ground beneath her feet.
Her unit had been sent out to stop the approaching horde. Their village had been decimated by the plague, so they could only send out farmers and those too old to serve anymore. She was amazed they had stopped the monsters from taking away what was left.
She was so tired, but there was still there was more to do. She lit her torch and began to burn those bodies closest to her. The stench of sizzling flesh stung her lungs and eyes, but she didn’t pause as she raced to set more of the fallen ablaze.
The battle had been fast, but not fast enough. She tried to cry, but the tears were too tired to come. As the moon rose, so did the fallen. She could only set herself on fire. One fewer for the enemy.
The dark clouds race across the horizon. Their arrival announced by the fleeing wind and the bass rumble of discontent. Lightning flashes raise the hairs on the back of my neck and I try to stare the storm down. I gather the energy pushing against me, and with the thrust of my hands, push back. The effort has little to no effect and I feel heartbroken. This would have worked if there was really magic in the world, I’m sure of it. The sky opens up, mocking me as I am drenched by some of the largest rain drops I have ever seen. Lightning takes pictures of me as I slowly walk to the house under the mocking laughter of thunder. I shake my fist at the storm as I get to my front door. The thunder goes silent and the rain begins to lesson. A smile spreads on my face as the sun peaks out from the dark clouds. Maybe there is magic. I dance in the puddles of my victory, at least until my mother calls me inside.