text: I sit down in a chair.
  
  "I'm Morty," says the man with the revolver, "Don't any of you move or make a sound. That way, he won't get hurt." He motions outside.
  
  I sit still. I cannot move. Tears fall down my cheeks.
  
  The door's handle moves again. My father comes inside. He's looking down and stomps his feet.
  
  I think somebody threw a rock, but-." My father stops speaking when he sees the other men. Morty is holding the revolver to my mother's head.
  
  "Drop it slowly," demands Morty.
  
  My father looks at us. Without taking away his gaze, he lowers his rifle to the ground.
  
  "Sit down with your folks," says another intruder. He picks up the rifle. "I'm Jacob. That's Huxley. He's Morty. Where's your firewood?"
  
  "We still have some in here," my father responds, "It's in that box." He points to it. They throw more firewood on our dwindling fire.
  
  "Can your woman cook up something warm?" asks Morty.
  
  "Of course," she states. She stands up and moves into the kitchen. Huxly follows her.
  
  Jacob moves to the fire he takes off his gloves. His hands have ice crystals on them. They're pale. He tries to push off the ice and snow off of his beard and clothes. He outstretches his arms and basks in the amazing heat. He looks younger than my father. I suppose his parents are dead by now.
  
  Morty appears to be faring better than Jacob. His orange hair is not covered in ice now is his skin as pale. He's awfully thin. I think Huxly is thinner.
  
  "Will you have any visitors any time soon?" questions Morty.
  
  "We always check on our neighbors in case this happens. I'd suspect they'd come tomorrow or the day after."
  
  "How many people are in the town?"
  
  "Oh, many. They're all armed like I was. We don't take prisoners, but we don't track people who haven't hurt anybody."
  
  "I get it. Well, you better understand that we don't want trouble either. There's a large group of the crazies coming this way. We'll only stay until morning."
  
  "Just don't hurt my wife or kids."
  
  "Just don't force me... What's your name?"
  
  "I'm Richard."
  
  "What about the rest of you?"
  
  "That's Claire and Amos. My wife's Ladonna."
  
  "It smells like she can cook good."
  
  "She does."
  
  We all sit in silence again. My mother steps out of the kitchen with a pot. She hooks it over the fire and sits down at the table.
  
  "Sorry about hurting you," says Huxley. His face is still bleeding from my mother. She doesn't say anything in reply.
  
  Time passes by at a snail's speed. I pray that the pot will heat up soon. I don't know how long their manners will last.
  
  My mother goes over to the pot. I think it's soup. She stirs the soup and steam rises from the top. She goes back into the kitchen and comes out with spoons and bowls. She picks up the pot and pours it out for the men. They grab the spoons and bowls and devour their sustenance.
  
  The rifle is sitting on the floor. The revolver is in Morty's britches. I could grab the rifle. No, it is too far away. I could run outside to look for help. No, I'll freeze. It's too long until I can find town...
  
  > do Nothing
  I sit. That's all I do. What else is there to do?
  
  I watch the men as they eat. I do not make eye contact with them, and I'd rather be invisible. The soup drips from their mouths and into their beards. Jacob's skin still looks pale while Huxley can't seem to eat fast enough to satisfy his flesh.
  
  My mother is a statue. My brother sobs without a sound. My father is slouched. We're powerless.
  
  The three intruders fill their bowls again. Morty drops his bowl and mutters a word I do not understand. He doesn't clean up the mess. Instead, he refills his bowl.
  
  "You got a rope?" asks Jacob.
  
  "Excuse me?" replies my father. He glances at my mother.
  
  "You got a rope? You know, a good one?"
  
  "No."
  
  "Stop lying. I want to get some shut eye. You and your wife need to be... well, restrained. It's all logical."
  
  "It's in the barn." The other two men stop eating.
  
  "I may be hungry, but I ain't that stupid. You got bed sheets. We'll use those. Girl, go get yours."
  
  They are going to tie my parents? Will they do anything else?
  
  "Girl," says Jacob.
  
  "Y-Yes," my eyes open wide.
  
  "Get your bed sheets."
  
  "Yes mister."
  
  I stand up. I glance at my parents, and my father nods at me. I walk to the ladder without any haste. I look over my shoulder twice. These men are insane. It is not a good idea to sleep in a house of people who you just invaded...
  
  I climb to the top of the ladder. There is my bed. I used to look forward to sleep in it. The mattress was my key to hours of rest. Now, the sheets are a method of misery and humiliation. I take them off. There's a thick one made of wool and two thin ones. I lean over the side and drop them on the floor. I cringe as the sheets fall into the spilt soup.
  
  Huxley takes a thin sheet. He walks behind my father who doesn't look at the brute. My father places his arms behind the chair, and the man ties the sheet onto the chair. I'm pretty sure it was a poorly made knot. Jacob does the same to my mother. My brother still cries.
  
  I slink down to my family. Jacob sits in one of our chairs and closes his eyes. Huxley has the rifle, and Morty has the revolver.
  
  Time moves by at an alarmingly slow rate. My parents occasionally shift in their seat. Jacob sleeps. Morty and Huxley warm themselves by the fire. Even my brother leans his head against the table to sleep. I do nothing.
  
  Is it even possible to do nothing? Nothing cannot be anything, so does one have to do something to actually do it? Am I partaking in the act of remaining motionless? Am I refraining from doing? More importantly, why I am so bored when my life is in danger? This is supposed to be a serious situation, yet I almost wish my father would mention our checkers board to them.
  
  "What do y'all do for fun around here?" I am brought from my daydream. "Is all you do work, eat, and sleep?" continues Morty. My parents do not answer him. He might become angry if nobody answers him.
  
  "We, we do many things, mister. We have checkers. We talk to our neighbors or play outside. I tell stories."
  
  "Can you read?"
  
  "No."
  
  "So you give oral ones to them?"
  
  "Yes."
  
  "Can you give one to me?"
  
  "Um... sure." What should I say?
  
  > tell a Story
  I say, "Um... Well, there once was a castle that sat on top of the hill. It is still there, and you can still stand under it in awe. It took the riches of one queen over her entire lifetime to build it. The finest craftsmen, the greatest masons, and the most gifted artists of the kingdom all converged into a single place for decades.
  
  "Its walls were decorated on the outside with the white marble from the western mines. Its highest point almost could reach heaven. The drawbridge was made of the thickest cedar from the old Tyre kingdom to the South. That is just what the people outside could see. They were mostly stuck in city that surrounds the grand castle. Though, the city had running water and an underground sewer system that had never been seen before.
  
  "Inside the walls, oh, it is hard to describe. Silver ran through the seams of the stones. Tapestries detailing history and folklore drape from every wall. Those walls stretched higher than even the old churches. Their ceiling was curved, and I never learned of how they accomplished that. There were windows looking out that the visitor could use. They were very long and so thin. Each hall had doors which led to stables, great halls, servant's quarters, royal quarters... They even had a bakery. It was its own town.
  
  "My first memory was in the halls. I was lost and crying. I felt trapped, for nobody was around me. It was only me. I've been told that a guard brought me back, but it was those walls that I remember. When I ran my hand across their magnificence, they felt cool. I would secretly lean against the walls during the summer. When I would pull my body off the walls, there was a small patch of sweat left behind.
  
  "The people were happy living under the rule of the queen. There were no wars, for there was peace with the surrounding lands. The navy was beyond compare that was docked in the port. In the morning, I stood in awe gazing at the sun as it rose through the sails.
  
  "The queen had two children. One was a boy, and the other was a girl. The girl stayed inside most of the hours, but the boy played outside. They were as loved as the queen, but the boy was adored by all. He took the name Daivat the Magnificent. He grew up in the ways of the warrior and the diplomat. His fame grew powerful as his body matured.
  
  "One fateful year, the queen became ill. She laid in bed for days with her daughter attending her every need. She died on a moonless night with her children around her. The queen ceased to be, but a King was thus born.
  
  "Everything was fine."
  
  "Stop," demands Morty, "Your story sucks."
  
  Will he come after me? No, he turns back to the fire. I am fine. My heart is racing. My body is sweating. I'd rather be bored now.
  
  "Damn," hisses Huxley, "Did you hear that?"
  
  "What?" asks Morty. Huxley kicks Jacob. He moans.
  
  "They're here," whispers Huxley. "They must've followed the smoke trail like we did."
  
  Jacob asks, "The crazies?" Huxly nods. "Should we put out the fire?"
  
  "It won't matter," laments Morty.
  
  I look at my parents as the men continue talking. My mother shrugs her shoulders. What if there are crazies outside? I could maybe untie my parents without them noticing me. What if there aren't any of them out there? If I untied my parents, then the men could be scared enough to shoot us.
  
  I ignore the men's chatter and strain for any sound from outside. The popping of the fire and their words drown all other sounds. If there are crazies, then I would have no idea. They go for door, or at least the smarter ones do. Is the door even locked? No, it isn't. These intruders are dump beyond redemption. Should I lock the door, or should I free my parents? If I do nothing, then they'll shoot us. They aren't stable enough. The men are starving and suffering from frostbite. They are like crazies with a partial mind.
  
  > untie your Parents
  I stand up and move behind my father. I look around as if nothing is amiss, but my hands attempt to unravel the knots. They haven't noticed me, but they do look afraid.
  
  "Girl, get back in that chair," says Jacob. I nod and do so immediately. My father's arms fidget. I hope I untied enough of them.
  
  I hear a thump. A gun is shot. I duck under the table. They are trying to kill us. They spotted me.
  
  I hear screaming. It's one of the intruders. Cold air is blowing in. Someone catches on fire. My father is out of his seat. There's growling. I hear gurgling and gasping for air.
  
  "Please!" yells Morty. Something rips, spatters, falls to the ground.
  
  Somebody grabs my legs. I kick and crawl away. It lets go. Moving bodies are everywhere. I run through the chaos. I have to get outside. I can warn the town.
  
  Arms grab me. I scream from their grip. I kick and twist. The arms slam me into a wall. My head rings and throbs. I see the intruders. They're all dead. One arm is in the fire. A spine is on the ground. My mother is screaming. It's coming from outside. Where's Father? Where's my brother?
  
  I am dragged outside. The winter air bites at my skin.
  
  There are men. They're everywhere. Their muscles bulge. Their eyes are black. Drool leaks from their mouths. I can feel the drool dripping on my neck and down my back.
  
  I hear grunts. I see five of them. One is bleeding from a gunshot. They head inside. I see one more lingering in here. Tears cloud my vision.
  
  I am pushed to the ground. I see the outline of one come to me. He towers over my form. They weren't supposed to be in groups.
  
  "Girl," it growls. It is more animal than beast now. Why am I alive? My mother screams again.
  
  It grabs my chin forcing me to look up. The others are all watching and feasting on the intruders. This one is taller. I am yanked up. He looks excited.
  
  "Do it," he demands.
  
  I am now in summer. This is summer. Nothing is wrong. I am fishing. Fishing is so peaceful.
  
  My line is being tugged at. I pull back on my rod. I see the line move back and forth in the water, so I jump to my feet. I raise my pole and snatch the fish before it could free itself.
  
  The fish squirms in my hand. The slime is cool and sticky, so I set it onto the earth. It tries to flop to the life-giving water, but I smash its head in with a rock. It squirms no more. I toss it into a pile of other fish.
  
  It is helpful that nobody comes out here. The skies are peaceful like the waters below. The only ripples of my world are the ones caused by me. Then again, there are countless other places to fish with bounty since this is my special place. Nobody comes into my special place.
  
  I shove my last piece of worm into the hook. The metal pierces through its intestines which pains the still living creature. Blood seeps out. It makes a plop when the hook and worm hit the water. I sit back on the ground and lean against the tree again.
  
  I yawn. The shade is relaxing. It's so hot, so any break from the heat is something I enjoy. My line is tugged at again. I stand while keeping the rod steady to not frighten the fish. I wait for another tug. I stare with all the focus that I can muster. It has to move soon.
  
  Nothing happens. I pull out the line from the water and into my hand. I examine the worm. There's no evidence of any creature's bite marks though it is still pierced. I shake my head and lower the worm into the depths again.
  
  I close my eyes and wait for sleep's embrace.
  
  My eyes open again, yet I do not know what waked me. I pull my hook out of the water and notice that the worm is gone. I set my pole down and pick up my net. I toss it into the pool of water. I pull out the few remaining fish. I carry the net over to the stream and release the fish back into their old home, for they deserve to make it back.
  
  I pick up my pole and the few fish I caught. Instead of walking home, I stare into the distance. The sun is touching the eastern mountains. Its red bleeds into the valley below filling the untouched lands with its rays. Birds chirp far above my head. I smile at their music, for it is an innocent song. I breathe in the fresh air and sigh.
  
  I walk back home on a game trail. My prints now cover what were once the tracks of animals. They don't use this one that often anymore, for they still fear mankind and rightfully so.
  
  I set my fish down inside my home. Mother and Father are out in the fields sowing seeds for the fall harvest. My brother is with them helping their labors. I waive at my family from inside our home. They see me from the window and wave back.
  
  Everything is fine.
  
  > awake into Reality
  I shiver. My breathe turns into a mist. My body aches. Bruises are everywhere.
  
  Heavy breathing comes from the kitchen. I'm inside my home. Except for a crazy's corpse next to me, there's nobody in here. The corpse is burnt, and flesh is rotting from the bone. The flesh falls off. The door is open. It's bright outside. That one must've not left. I hope he suffered as he saw the sun.
  
  There's a trail of blood on the floor. Pieces of... I can't tell. They're pieces of people. It's all in a line, several lines. All of which go to the kitchen from where the breathing emanates. The breathing is labored. The revolver is next to me, and I do not know if it has anything inside.
  
  I reach and grab the gun. My savior has three bullets, yet I hope to use only one. I sit up, and the floor creaks. A crash comes from the kitchen. I stand. It cannot reach me, for I am in the light. I could run and find help. Where is my family? My mother's screaming no longer pierces the tranquility while I see no evidence of my father or brother's demise.
  
  It growls. The creature knows I am here. Rage swells inside me, for they took from me what I deserve. I deserve the innocence that I no longer have.
  
  I drop the gun and fall on my hands and knees. I heave until the meager contests of my stomach poor onto the floor. I continue to heave though there is nothing left, and my insides scream in protest.
  
  I cry. My tears fall into my vomit. I try to push the bile from my hands, though the stench is even more unbearable.
  
  "Damn you!" I shout. "Damn all of you and all of your kind!" I pick up a chair and throw it at the kitchen. It does not reach. I grab whatever is small and hurl it to the dark room. The beast grunts, but I do not see its form.
  
  "Come out, come out. Face me." I slam my hands on the table. "Sniveling bastard, come out here!"
  
  The beast does not emerge, so I take hold of the revolver again. I stand in front of the kitchen door.
  
  Is this a good idea?
  
  > Leave
  I open a trunk by the fireplace and pull out some clothes. It is, was my mother's. I put them on, for I would freeze if not. I put on my shoes and put the revolver in my pocket. The clothes are loose, so I wrap a belt around myself.
  
  I open the curtain to shed more light into the living room. The beast will be trapped. The people of Lune will come and kill it.
  
  The ground is covered in bare prints that go in all directions. I walk to the back of the house hoping to find something, or maybe my mother's footprints could be leading away from this hellhole. I turn the corner and see what is back here.
  
  I lean against the house. My head feels dizzy. I retch again.
  
  Her clothes are ribbons. Her body no longer looks human. Bones covered with tissue and flesh without form are strewn about the ground.
  
  I want to cry. I want to feel despair, but I cannot. I cannot feel, for anguish has taken emotion out of my soul. I simply stare at what is left of her corpse. Maybe she was killed immediately and only her body was desecrated.
  
  I walk away. Down the street I go. I used to play here, for other children and I would run. Indians would battle Cowboys, or later the sane would battle crazies. Now, I flee a crazy in a trot.
  
  I can hear nothing. No birds sing, and no wind blows. Only the crunching of my footsteps on the snow reverberates through this lifeless desert.
  
  Prints, I see a pair of footprints in the snow. They're small, much too small to be a crazy. I run along the path of the prints. It is a miracle they're still here.
  
  They weave along the path. It trends rightwards only to stumble back. Is there still goodness left in this world? If so, then I must find life.
  
  I stop running. There's a mound of snow surrounded by the prints.
  
  "Amos?" I call. There is no reply. I walk to the mound. It's a shelter. Inside, lays his body. I crawl to him. "Amos?"
  
  "I'm cold," he whimpers. I smile.
  
  "Let's go."
  
  "I'm too cold."
  
  "Then I'll carry you. Get on my back."
  
  I leave holding his legs. He says nothing else, but I can hear his breathing. His body is cold, and I dare not check for frostbite. Though, there must be.
  
  I continue to walk down the path.
  
  > Lune
  I see Lune.
  
  The moment I do, I scream, "Help!" Townspeople rush out. They're ragged and tired, yet they're so much more alive than I. As the villagers reach me, I am bombarded with words.
  
  "Is your brother okay?" "Are you hurt?" "Is this a joke?" "Where's your parents?" All their questions swirl together.
  
  "My brother is dying from the cold. Help him," I demand.
  
  "I've got a fire," says a lady. I hand Amos to her.
  
  "Why happened to him?" asks another villager.
  
  "People invaded my house. Then, crazies killed them. My mother was... I was... Is my father here?"
  
  "No, I am so sorry for what happened dear," a woman laments. "Come with me. You need to go inside."
  
  "There's one left in my kitchen. There's blood everywhere. Have the men kill it."
  
  A man, he commonly led the other men, barks orders. Guns are brought. The men run down the path, and some are on horseback. The women force me to go inside. They take me to the house with my brother. He's by a fire. He'll live. That's nice.
  
  I think the women know what happened. At least, I think they do. They try to give me a blanket, feed me food, or place me next to a fire. I refuse each time.
  
  "What can we do for you?"
  
  "Let me hear silence. Tend to my brother. Never let him see my house again."
  
  They nod. They merge with the swarm around my brother. Children are looking through the windows. The bastards don't know what I've seen and felt, yet they view me as an attraction or something to entertain them. Don't they?
  
  I reach my hand in my pocket. I feel the gun and rub my fingers up and down the barrel.
  
  I have done my duty. My brother is safe. There is no more work to do on the farm, for there is no farm... not anymore at least.
  
  I don't see anything to do in my future. I'll probably become an old maid now. My brother, he's young. Maybe he'll forget about all that has happened. I won't. He won't if I'm around.
  
  I grip the gun tight. Perhaps this still has one more use. I shake my head, and I finally sit down.
  
  I close my eyes.