Nirabora was at home, the fireplace roaring in the pit, her head resting on her fathers lap as they sat by the hearth. “Father?” The sweet young girl looked over. The large man looks down at her tiny figure. “Yes my dearest Nira?” “Does the fire feel? If we put it out, would it scream? Would it hurt?” The little girl looked worried. The Man laughs, holding her hand. “Of course not. The fire is simply there to help us. Keep us warm, cook our food, and many other things. It does not feel. It simply aids us” Nira looks up at her Father. “Are you sure?” “Yes. I’m sure” The minutes turn to hours as they lay there, her little sister, her mother, her eldest brother, all past by, but they continued to stare at the fire. Nira’s father held her near, and the sent of her mother’s pie filled the air. She was content and happy as she began to drift to sleep... Nira gazed deep into the hearth, blinked, and the fire seemed to have spread. The entire hovel was engulfed in fire seemingly in an instant. The screams of her family rang in her ears, her father was no longer holding her hand. Her mother was no longer making pie on the stove. Her siblings were no longer playing and laughing in the next room. Shouting and screaming erupted from every corner of the home. Orcs rushed through the home, chasing her mother who had been clutching onto her baby sister... Her crumpled corpse still holding onto her child. Nira’s father had tried to fight, to protect them, but he too died to the edge of an Orc’s sword. Her older brother had been slashed to bits, his face still frozen in fear... well... what was left of it anyway. Her baby brother was crying in his dead mothers arms as the Orc’s pick him up by the hair. They laugh and raise a dagger to the infants throat, slicing his head off his shoulders. Nira got up from the hearth, shaking... the Invaders started to notice her. As they approached her one swiped out, slashing her eye, the blood from the wound floods into her socket. She screams. She screamed so loud, so hard, so despratly, that the Orcs stopped in their tracks... One by one, they began to fall, screaming in pain and agony. She grabbed a knife from the remains of the Kitchen, and begin to kill their writhing forms. She sliced, she cut, she stabbed and slit... And it felt good. She let out a giggle as she continued to maim each and every one of them. One of the orcs who had survived begged for Mercy, that he had a Family and that he was sorry. The little girl stared down at his quivering figure, a dead look in her eye. The glint of that happy little girl was gone, snuffed out. She knelt down to his level, gazing deep into his eyes. Blood spattered her rosy skin as the Orc collapsed, the knife embedded in his throat. She lifted herself from the ground, licking a droplet of blood on her cheek. She surveyed the piles of bodies at her feet. Her Families bodies... and their killers. She began to come off of the high of absolute fear and pain, that she realized what had just happened. She looks down at her quivering hands, covered in blood. She drops the knife as if it was scalding hot, boiling tears running down her face, as she begins to run. She was exhausted, hungry, traumatized but she kept running. Her legs and feet begged her to stop, and her lungs were dry and empty, but she kept running. Eventually, after running several miles away from her home, an elf couple found her knocked out on the dirt and took her in. A few days later, the child left the home, leaving two corpses behind....
THE END I HOPE IT WAS NOT TOO TERRIBLE
