Here's the story to go with the board. :D It is not all done yet!
Life is usually kind, sometimes in ways we cannot see; but on occasion—like a sudden summer storm, Life throws a stick in the wheel of everyday happiness, and out plummets all the joys and happiness it’s possessor once had.
Imagine your whole life being one misfortune after another, it is not very interesting is it? It makes one ask, “Will the story either end or get better already!” but then it doesn’t, at all, for a long-long time. So you are four-hundred pages in and no gladness has shown through the dull pages of the book, it’s just filled with misery and many commentaries, just like this.
I shall stop boring you now, and bring to you my story, this…fantastic story, with a few regrets, many near-death experiences, and many years of pure joy; here we go.
Lightning lit the sky; it made me grimace, once again reminding me of all the times it had stuck our peaceful village. Life had not been the same; it probably would never be just as it was…once upon a time.
A mellow, drip, drip followed by a thonk then scraping of metal, as another leak-basin was put into place. All these stormy nights were alike and no matter how many times the thatch roof was patched, tarred, boarded, the water would always find its way in to fall upon the tired women and children sleeping within the building.
It wasn’t supposed to be raining this evening, so the job had not been assigned to anyone. Dear Margie was up and taking care of it though, she was full of kindness, it was no surprise she was the first to wake up and take care of it.
In all truth, I probably should’ve been doing it, I had been awake all evening, sitting in the window, watching the rain pitter-patter down upon the road creating a mud soup. The window was just at as angle that you had to either lay down to see out, or you had to be very small, I was small, and agile, this small space was my favourite.
“Kathy, dear, shouldn’t you be asleep?” I turned from the dreary downpour to see old dear Margie looking expectantly at my little face.
“Are you scared? Or did the realm of sleep just leave you behind?”
“Neither really,” was my reply before looking back out the window. I heard her rattle around for a few minutes before coming back to the window. “Are you hungry?”
She offered me a piece of bread, with a bit of jam on it. My stomach growled like a hungry wolf, growing was hard when food was scarce. I reached for the bread, Margie pulled it away from my reach. “Come now little belfry bat, you have to come out of that draughty nook before you can have some.”
Margie smiled; a warm motherly smile and between the bread and the smile I was lured out. I gobbled the crusty piece down as fast as I could, careless as I was, at the time, of manners.
Margie smiled again and patted her lap, on which I climbed and snuggled into her warm shawl that she had over her shoulders. I drifted off to sleep.
It was not long though, before we were all rudely awakened by the yelling of the guards on the edge of the town. Something was amiss.
We were all hustled out of the building all still with sleep in our eyes, but wide-awake nonetheless. There was a loud screeching—eerily familiar, It was a dragon. The sound curdle the blood in all the young children, those of us who had grown up during the attacks.
“It is only one!” cried one of the townsmen, who was armed with a bow and a frightened expression. “Shoot it anyway!” cried one of the other men, armed the same way. “No, let us not—it’s not hur—“
It breathed fire right at our grove of young trees, our only hope of rebuilding. Everyone screamed or moaned. Many arrows were shot in its general direction, to no avail. The grove crackled and burned out, and it was all as it was before. Ruin, hopelessness, exhaustion.
The plan of the day was to send people to the royal city, Dumon, to ask the king, once again, for more building supplies.