I saw them coming before anybody else. They did not have strong armor, like ours; but they did have on wooden armor. I almost laughed, because we had iron armor and swords and shields, while they had only wood. I scrambled to my parents' bedside. "Mama! Papa! Get up! They are here!"

Papa slowly arose out of bed and glanced blearily out of the small, dirty window in our cabin. His eyes widened and Mama ran up to him. "What is wrong?" She too looked out and saw our enemies. "We should warn the others." She reached for the war horn that everybody has in their house, but Papa stopped her with his big arm. "Look closely," he said. "They aren't armed."

I peered out the window and saw that they were not carrying swords or shields. But then, out of the morning mist, came a big catapult. In it was the largest wooden ball I had even seen. Mama reached for the horn again and blew into it. The sound traveled throughout the village, and soon we heard battle cries as men charged out into the battlefield. Papa was also getting ready, and Mama kissed him on the cheek.

"We'll win this war," she assured him. "We are stronger than them."

Papa nodded, but reminded her, "Although, they will not go down without a fight." Papa stomped out of the front door, and ran straight into the midst of the battle.

Many hours later, men lay dead on the ground. Our field was bloody and full of holes that the wooden balls made. Mama put on her nursing clothes and went to retrieve Papa. When she came back she was carrying him in her arms. He was either unconscious or... Dead. I refused to believe it.

"Mama, you'll fix him, won't you?" I asked, not able to stop the tremble in my voice.

"I'll do the best I can," Mama replied grimly, and lay Papa down on the table. His head had a small dent in it--probably from one of the wooden balls--and his left arm had a very large gash in it. His fingers on that arm were twitching uncontrollably. Blood soaked his skin. His left eye was closed tight, but blood was forcing itself out of it. The sight made me shudder, but Mama went straight to work.

"Go and help the other men to their homes," she told me gently. "I'll heal Papa."

With nothing more than a nod, I ran out into the battlefield. Some of the men were dead, some had worse wounds than Papa, but some of them were in fairly good condition. My heart sank as I saw my best friend, whom I nicknamed Rabbit for his hopping around all the time, only fourteen, barely a man, lying motionless on the ground. I ran up to him and shook his shoulders. "Are you alright?" I demanded. "Please don't be dead, please don't-"

He sat up, a dizzy look in his eyes. "Oh, it's you," he said with relief. "I thought it was my mama. She'd have a fit if she knew what condition I am in." He pointed to his leg, that had a cut in it that went down to the bone. He seemed to be in shock, so he could not feel the pain that was sure to come soon.

"How about I bring you to my mama?" I asked. "She'll be able to help you."

Rabbit smiled. "Okay."

I tried to help him to his feet, but then the pain came, and he collapsed, gasping, to the ground. He gritted his teeth as he spoke. "Need you to carry me."

So I half-carried, half-dragged him to our cabin, where I found Papa sleeping peacefully in his bed, and Mama washing blood off her hands. She took one glance at Rabbit and demanded, "Aren't you supposed to be with your mama? She's a nurse too, you know." But she took him and propped him up on the table that Papa was just laying on. She shooed me out, but there were no more men on the battlefield, so I just found a stick and traced pictures in the pools pf blood.

This city's streets were once vibrant and full of life. Merchants lined both sides peddling wares, foods, and linens. Children laughing, running, and playing as parents gossiped. The air carried the scent of freshly baked breads, sweets, and freshly cut flowers.

Now these streets lay in ruin. Crumbled buildings broken beyond recognition. Coated in grey dust which stirs with every step filling my lungs with sulfur. Flashes of memories I would rather forget. Torn linen dangles and waves softly in the breeze. Absence of noise. Complete silence consumes these streets. Fitting for these unmarked graves. The scent of death still lingers. I close my eyes and turn away. I lost everything today. A nightmare I need to wake from. I fall to my knees. My grief suffocating. Please God let this be a dream.