Town Massacre

Mary sat alone in her house. Everyone in her small town was dead. She could hear their screams in the wind, and see them burning when she warmed herself by the fire.

The killing had begun two weeks ago. The Wilson family chopped to bits with an axe while others slept.

Twenty-two people were then claimed the next night. A house had been torched at dawn, the front and rear doors barred by furniture. The fire had soon spread to surrounding houses, burning the occupants in their beds.

Mary remembered Mr. Richards leaping from a second story window, his body a fireball falling to the earth. He had stood up and yelled incoherently at the horrified onlookers. Mary had been right there watching as he approached people, his skin turning black and crisp as he begged everyone for help. An old man had ended his life with a sword, a merciful death for the man still on fire.

Mary heard a noise outside her house. Peering out the window she saw a boy, trying to get a response from a decaying body lying on the street. She grabbed her axe. It was always more fun killing them with an axe.



200 words