I was out in the fields yesterday, and I was gathering wheat to bake bread with my family. I began to smell smoke. At first, I thought maybe the crazy old cook who lives about a fifteen minute walk from my house was burning his food again. Usually this smoky smell would fill my nose. Only, there was one thing, it wasn't just filling my nose, but it was stinging my eyes and making my ears ring. I was coming up the hill when I saw my village, burning, bodies pile up, and even my neighbors hiding in fear. I looked out to the sea, and saw what I had expected. The Vikings, sailing away, screaming and shouting foul words of victory. I dropped my basket and picked up my skirt. I ran to where my house would have been, and then I saw her, my mother. On her knees sobbing while she held by older brothers charred body in her hands. The whole house was burnt. I saw my dad walk from the wreckage, holding our cat, and my baby sister, who was coughing furiously.
"It's my fault," I said, "If I had been here he might not have died, I could've warned you, I knew I should have come back sooner, and if I had followed Mama's rules about staying out to late, I could have saved him. I'm sorry."
"No, if you had come, we would have 2 dead children, and we don't have enough time to bury the both a ya'" My Pa said, this made Ma cry harder, and my sisters cough act up again. "Come on, let's go see if anything survived." I said. This has been a bad day, maybe there is something left of all the good ones we have had.