Today I was on my way home, and it was snowing. Cold had set into my mind. Most of my friends were sick, and my family had died some years earlier from the war. The year is 1257A.D, the main religion, what little is left, is Christianity. The church is corrupt, the government is all a shambles, and there is no healer of any sort. Our town consists of one church, ruins were another church stood, tore down because of an evil priest or something, shacks were the citizens reside, a pub, and two, maybe three farms. There is a shortage of food, water, medicine, and religion. No one shows it, but everyone is dying unless they work for the church, or live in the castle atop the hill. They built the town quite some ways away from His “Majesty” as a front line of defense. We are to be called to arms if under attack. After we are dead or wounded, then the soldiers are to take over…in the castle. Bodies’ liter the street, the graveyard is filled to the brink of overflow, and the church decorates the interior with bones and dried flesh. Looks quite nice if I do say so myself, as I am the one in charge of making it look so. The new priest has appointed a “lucky” few to do work in exchange for food and not having to pay taxes with our non-existent coin. Sometimes, when it is not below freezing, I go out to the ruins. Although it was destroyed out of blasphemy, I find it very peaceful. The wind seems to dance around, you cannot hear the screams and coughing of the town, and no one bothers you. My house consists of a table, chair, bed, half a bottle of whine, a quarter chunk of bread, old cheese, few books, none religious though, and a cabinet here and there. I am looked up at in this town. Well, I must be going to bed. Skinning starts early. Good night.
I awoke today in a cold sweat, hardly conscious at all, with screams of terror and fire. I ran outside to see what was happening and I seen that we were under attack by a group of bandits. They attack only the town, never go far enough to get attacked by the castle guard. I grabbed my sword, passed down by the men in my family, and ran outside. I do not prefer to go into detail about this battle, just know the outcome was a lot of rubble, corpses, and heart breaks. The King congratulated us on protecting him, and then returned to his meal. Everyone I knew had died, with the exception of five friends. I did not go to church that day. After the battle, what was left of my friends and I returned to my house for wine and cheese to celebrate our dead friends’ freedom of pain. As we sat there and talked of memories past, I wiped the day from my sword, sheathed it, and returned it to the chest in which I keep in a shed out back of my shack. We ate, and then they left to tend to what was left of their homes and families. I cleaned up, and then began writing. It is nearing morning already, and tomorrow will be a day of cleansing and drying at the church. So, for now, good bye.