writing2

REFUGEE jbearden 11-20-2000

The hillside is covered with the same jungle growth that extends far into the distance in all directions. The sky above is mostly hidden by the canopy of trees, but through scattered holes in the foliage a deep, grey cloud cover can be seen. No rain will fall from these clouds; they are mostly formed from the accumulation of the smoke of war.

The seven people move steadily up the forested slope. The river valley drops below them, but they don't look back. Their minds and faces are ravaged by war, and the soldiers' knuckles are white as they grip their weapons.

The refugees carry little other than personal items in small knapsacks, the clothes on their backs, and the stench of death.

The wizard carries even less, but is perhaps the most burdened of them all.

The air smells of fresh greenery, a mixture of scents from the jungle growth around the little band. The earth is moist, and brightly colored insects buzz in blissful ignorance of the battles being fought nearby.

A ragged, filthy figure jumps from the undergrowth, drawing and firing an arrow in the same burst of motion.

One soldier falls as the other raises his bow.

The bandit fires again, felling a refugee.

The soldier places an arrow in the bandit's eye, bringing swift death.

The wizard's face has turned sickly white as the lone soldier silently closes the eyelids over his comrade's sightless eyes. Just as silently, the surviving refugees strip their fellow's belongings from his body.

The ambusher is left unmolested as the group moves along the jungle trail, not speaking.

The wizard, recovered now from her brief shock, runs a hand through dirty, tangled red hair as she leads the way.

Freedom waits ahead, yet her eyes are dull as she remembers the soldier and male refugee left lying dead on the path behind.

The wizard's eyes turn bleaker still as she contemplates the bandit also left behind, swollen abdomen giving no refuge to child unborn.