From One World To Another

Again

Again, my father went out to bury those who didn't make it through the minor plague we were having.

"How about you go help your father?" My mother suggested as she gently urged me toward the door.

Revolution filled my veins as flashes of memories filled my mind of my tiny hands burying the departed. "No, I-"

"You have to learn at some time," my mother said gently, "How else will you make money for your family?"

I didn't have an answer. All I knew was that I hated digging graves and everything it stood for. I didn't want to throw up, only to bury the dead.

My mother sighed deeply before allowing me to do as I pleased.

I was more than glad to help around the house and the yard, even if the other kids around the area teased me and called me girly. I knew I had to pull my weight, unlike those children that merely played all day.

After a day of scrubbing the house clean, I was covered in grime and dirt.

My mother nevertheless kissed my forehead, praising my work. She then asked me if I could fetch my father.

I nodded once, albeit hesitantly. I set out of the house only to be immediately called back in. I had a coat forced upon me before being sent off.

The walk to the graveyard was short, just like always.

All I had to do was walk down a hill and into the large field that was designated for the dead early on in the settling of the village.

The graveyard was quiet at that time of evening. The crows sat on top of gravestones, seemingly watching every movement I made. The stones obscured my vision, making it almost impossible to know where my father was.

I knew him well-enough, though. I knew here he would be...

He was standing over a small gravestone, one with an even smaller plot of land. He was sighing heavily as he looked down at it, hands in his pockets.

I remained silent as I reached his side, knowing he had heard me approaching. I looked down at the gravestone, at the name carved into it. I then looked up my father.

He was giving me a saddened smile. He took his hand from his pocket and patted my head, causing dirt to get planted in my hair. "Let's go home..."

I nodded once, taking his bigger hand in mine. I was led home by my father and greeted happily by my mother once we reached home.

Together, as a family, the three of us ate dinner before cleaning up together. We were happy, the picture of a perfect family.

After dinner, my mother sent my father and I off to take a bath.

We did so, returning soon after so we could go to bed by nightfall.

The same routine passed day after day for the next week.

Then, I realized something.

Older boys and men of all ages were starting to leave our small village.

Dread began to fill me day by day, but I didn't know why.

My father began working harder as my mother took up sewing clothes for some odd reason.

Then, I overheard it, the catalyst to everything...

"Is it true?" My mother muttered one night after she had sent me to bed. "Is it true that-"

"It is," my father confirmed solemnly, "It's coming to this town sooner rather than later."

My mother released a sob of despair. "Will you-"

"No, no," he denied. "We should be spared."

She gave a sigh of relief before muttering, "How are we going to explain this to him? He's only a child. I don't think he'll understand."

"He's going to have to," my father said, "It's war."

I felt my blood run cold as my body began to tremble. I hadn't heard that word for a long time, but it still made me feel scared. I was still a child, and I-

I didn't want to bury my parents again.

My heart squeezed, and I brought a hand up to my chest. I felt my vision blacken as I began to feel light-headed. My breathing quickened, and my legs felt weak. Finally, I allowed the darkness to consume me as my legs collapsed under me. I quickly fell asleep, though it wasn't because I had worked hard burying people all day...