A bright crimson moon hung in the sky, giving an eerie glow to the smoldering trees below. Deserted towns fell to the ground as black ashes. The earth had been scorched. The only survivors of this massacre were a piece of golden cloth and a torn leaf in a puddle of blood. Beyond the fires, in a dipping valley, corpses sat in a rotting stench. Blood had been splattered in various places, sizzling from the heat of the flames. The revolting scent of burning hair filled the air.

This was one week ago. Now everything, in black remains, sits lifeless.

An old, beggar-looking, woman walks through the ruins of the once luscious land. Her eyes fall to the golden cloth and bloody leaf; bending down she lifts the remnants in her palm.

“Poor defenseless creature, you have been torn. Poor child, you are still young.” The aged woman placed her other hand over the leaf and gold and hummed a ghostly tune.

“I give you a kiss” she whispered as she placed the leaf down and began walking into the shadows of neither night nor day.

Still, the skies are smothering in smoke; dark clouds hide the sun and moon. It’s difficult to decipher whether the next day has begun or ended. Cold rain to fall, a false aid for the scarred land.

The puddles of blood had now soaked into the dirt. The golden cloth sheltered the now red stained leaf. As the rain stopped a small ray of light broke through the dark, but was soon covered again.

The golden cloth had unraveled, but now it was miraculously wider. The frayed and discolored leaf was no longer there, in its place lay a person. Frayed auburn hair sprawled over the ground, fair shimmering skin revealed to the world. Healing wounds covered their thighs, bruises on their face and arms. A frail body; starved and wounded.

Fogged eyes opened, they darted from side to side in panic. The fair skinned being sat up, attempting to cover their body with boney arms. Taking notice of the tarnished gold cloth below them, they wrapped it around their body, and shivered as an icy wind blew passed.

What would have been days, but instead became hours, slowly passed by. The ginger haired figure only sat draped in the changing cloth, unmoving, frightened, and confused. As they sat there, the earth beneath their body began to heal.

Sleep began to wash over the idle person. Cold winds grew stronger. Winter.

The dark clouds finally parted, but instead of sunlight, rays from the pale moon shone down. Golden tanned skin lay wrapped in a tattered brown shirt, messy scarlet hair rested over the shoulders of the sleeping figure. A soft mumble escaped their lips as their dream heightened.

Frozen sickles hung from the branches under which the sleeping person lay. A soft wind passed by, shaking the icy knife. Another wind whispered over the earth, the ice broke off.

A shriek erupted from under the leafless tree, blood added to the corrupted dirt.

Startled and injured, the person began to run with their hand covering the injury on their shoulder.

Clouds passed by the moon once more, shadowing the world.

The person, out of breath, kneeled on the ground. Tears streamed down their porcelain face. Pale blue eyes, like the jewels of the earth, searched the surrounding land for anything. The world was silent, fire and smoke had finally stopped reaching out to the sky, small areas of grass had begun to sprout once more. This was the aftermath of human against life, against earth, against itself.

End of chapter one

Crimson Night

Written by Cole Caralee G.

(This is an original story.

Anyone found copying and posting this as their own story will be penalized.

Don’t be a jerk. Write your own stories.)