A dark cloud rose over the horizon as a child looked out over the sea. The cloud moved like no storm the child had ever seen. It rode over the water as if it were caressing it. The closer the cloud came the more it began to look like sails of ships. The child couldn’t believe his eyes and he ran home to get his parents.
The child lived on the other side of the village and had to run through the busy paths to get there. It was mid-afternoon and they were at their busiest. Street sellers and buyers were wandering around the wooden sidewalks and the dirt roads were busy with horses and carts of all varieties. Men and women strolled hand in hand and children ran between people here and there playing their games, all of them oblivious to what was coming from the sea. The child weaved in and out of the crowd as he ran home.
By the time he had reached his house he was panting. The house was empty and the fresh scent of blueberry pie was wafting through the house. The boy sat down at the table to catch his breath and couldn’t help but notice there was a freshly cut piece sitting at his spot at the table. A glass of milk sat next to the plate. Such a tempting sight, the boy forgot all about the ships on the horizon and dug into the blueberry pie and washed it down with a glass of milk.
By the time his parents came home the boy was off playing with his friends and the ships were long forgotten. No one had noticed the rolling cloud of dark ships off of their coast, no one but that one lone child, who was tempted by a blueberry pie.
During the night bells began to ring and shouting from every direction rang through the village streets. People shouting, “We’re under attack!” Fires broke out in every house as the attackers set fire to the buildings. Men in dark clothing ran through the streets with black swords and killed any man, woman or child not wearing the dark clothes of his comrades. All that could be heard now was the screaming of dying men and women. The screeching of children who had just saw their parents killed by the men in black.
As the sun rose the next morning nothing but ashes lie where the village once stood. Decapitated bodies strewn about on the roads. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the house that less than 16 hours ago held the scent of a freshly baked blueberry pie. The bones of a child charred to a crisp sat in a corner and the empty blueberry pie tin lay next to him.