The start of something

Life, something not often considered valuable in the eyes of oppressors, discarded with such ease that it that sickens me to consider the following examples. Most of my thoughts and considerations have their attention focused upon the cruel thoughts and feelings that infect my mind every day, from my waking hours through the night. My primary intent in writing this work is to clear my mind of ill intent and declarations that harm my conscience, but above all else, I wish to warn the world.

Most of the events took place after dark, when the sun shed its light through the old fields and casted shadows that nearly touched the horizon, painting the landscape dull shades of orange. It was during these late summer days, that I would meander along the hills with my faithful dog, singing songs so old only the dead would remember their melancholy melodies. These old tunes, along with the chime of the aroused crickets settled the land with an eerie, yet beautiful harmony. My return home always marked the start of dusk and my day would be over. My hound would lie in her favorite corner, and enjoy a quite nap, and I would stay up tending to my fire, waiting for my tea to boil. It was one of these quite nights that I heard it, a unique sound which bore similarity to the sharpening of knives. The harsh and annoying whistle brought me to attention and I quickly lost track of my thoughts as I bustled to turn of the stove, only remembering the strange sound after hearing it again. Even my dog awoke, and displayed her fear as the sound continued. I motioned to the animal with my good hand, and watched as she scampered off to where I kept my gun, waiting calmly and listening intently as I became sure of what awaited me outside.