Photo credit demolitiondan.deviantart.com
Centuries ago a bloody battle took place here. To this day whenever the wind blows from the east, you can smell the faint scent of blood.
Fires were set ablaze, causing massive explosions. Deafening sounds, from weapons, ammunition destroyed, sounded like fireworks, but it was far from an entertainment show.
Standing in the exact location this took place, it’s hot, and cinders are blown about. The fort was burned to the ground. The entrance where the door was hinged is outlined in black coal. Minute remnants from the blast are cemented haphazardly in the eight by twelve square.
It is said that once the darkness begins to fall from the mountain tops, you can hear the cries of horror, and see intermediate flashes of light.
Uphill on the highest point still stands a historical church. During the winter skeletons roam the grounds, they had lost their souls; long before death. They are the ones who committed atrocious suffering on humanity. They seek solace in frigid temperature. They wait for the snow.
They were the ones burned alive.
9:52 PM
Vera Robinson © 2015
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