Micro Narrative - First Lit Post

Our first AP Lit post of the year is here!  So, without further adieu, here is my micro narrative.  Enjoy! :)

This is the longest peace that our society has had in a long time.  Children ran around in tunics and dresses, looking like little versions of their parents.  Adults chatted and laughed, completing their daily errands.  I nodded to my friends and co-workers as I walked through the town as my Grecian tunic flowed around my knees.  The smell of fresh bread filled the air, floating all the way from the bakery at the end of the street.  Hammers clanged against metal in the blacksmith’s shop down the block.  I browsed the shops and booths lining the crowded streets, my signature bow and quiver strapped to my back.  Venders were shouting for people to buy a certain product.  Different languages were being spoken all around me as I walked through the market, languages that should have died along with the ancient cultures that they came from.

As I came to the square in the center of town, three children caught my attention:  a set of twins, a boy and a girl, and their younger brother.  They were so young, naïve even.  Their father was chasing them around, the four of them weaving around the other people in the square and the children screaming in delight.  Never in a million years did I think that I would end up having children, let alone three.  I shook my head, smiling, and continued to walk to a training field, hearing the oh so familiar clashing of swords and the thwack of arrows hitting their mark.  That had been me once, working all day to perfect my skills.  To train so that I could survive.  Train so that I could protect others like me, my family. 

Stories are told of our adventures, our victories.  I try to ignore them.  They always brought the nightmares and no matter how much time passed, the smell of the burning flesh and the screams of the victims will never leave.

Many of us have scars, even those who were young at the time.  I have them.  Burn marks.  They tried to break me.  To burn me.  I remember my own flesh burning.  Some of us view our battle scars as marks of our bravery.  I don’t.  I hate them.  I hate those d*** scars.  Bite marks, burn scars, and the scars from swords, bullets, and daggers.  I hate them all.  I was helpless…weak.  I swore to myself I would never know that helplessness again.  And I knew that I wasn’t the only one that felt that way.

Once the peace came, I trained even harder.  I pushed myself to the brink of exhaustion to ensure that I would never be the same.

I slid my bow off my shoulder and notched an arrow.  I pulled the arrow back towards me, took a breath, and released the arrow.  I watched the arrow as it whizzed through the air toward the target.  I smirked as it hit the bull’s eye.  I guess some things will never change.