Through a Child’s Eyes

It was nearly night but not night yet. The orange color from the sky still touched the windows in our small house. I sat on the floor, next to my sister, playing with some wooden animals that Father carved for me last year. My sister's hair tickled my arm as she squeezed me tight. She always hugged, but today she hugged much more, holding me like I might fly away if she let go. It made me laugh, but her arms were shaking.

Mother was near the storage, searching for something. She looked tired today. Not just tired, tired-tired. Her eyes were red, rubbing at her face again and again. She kept glancing out the window to the west, biting her lip. Whenever I moved to follow her eyes, she told me, "Harley, stay close." Even if I just wanted a cup of the cool water in the big brown jug, my sister followed me and held my hand.

From outside, strange sounds kept coming—soft at first, just like sticks snapping in the woods, but then loud and bigger. Once, something thudded against the ground, echoing through the walls. I clapped my hands over my ears. My sister's arms squeezed me hard.

Through the window near the wooden door, I watched people in the street hurrying. Some carried bundles, some wore white bandages that had red stains. A few people walked arm in arm, limping, faces all twisted up in pain. Someone shouted once, but Mom closed the window, and it sounded further away.

It wasn't like usual. Sometimes the grownups dress up with clothes and do their "healing day" at the village hall, bringing back tales of sick goatys or bark tea that tastes like dirt, but today was different. They looked sad and scared—not fun at all.

***

Yesterday, Mom promised Uncle Joe would come visit and play, like he always did when he brought honey pears from the southern wood. My sister and I waited since the sun came up, but Uncle didn't knock. When I asked, Mom ruffled my hair. "Uncle Joe needs to rest, honey. He's hurt, but the herbalist is helping." Still, I wanted at least a wave through the window. It was never like this before.

I nibbled at my stew, eating with my sister and the other villagers outside near the village hall like always when it was nice. The hall smelled of baking bread and bitter herbs, but tonight the smell was different. Underneath, I could still smell the blood and the medicine together.

Grownups whispered together. I heard words like "Molano" and "too dangerous." My sister kept picking at my food, piling extra on my plate, telling me, "Eat, it's your favorite." But she only nibbled her bread and hugged me every five minutes. After I finished, she and I put our bowls on the tall kitchen table in the hall and walked home. My eyes felt heavy as stones.

While we walked the path between the hall and our house, the trees whispered with wind and a noise from the west—a deep thumping, like when the woodcutters drag big logs. My sister squeezed my hand tight. My house was between the big hall and the south gate, and sometimes the seamstress would wave at us from the porch, but tonight the house next door was quiet. The lamp above our door flickered.

Once inside, my sister and her friend, the seamstress apprentice, started their cloth training. They whispered a lot, sewing and leaning close, but I was tired. Mom scolded us both when someone dropped their needle, saying too loudly that "tonight must be careful." Even quietly, I felt like blankets were pressing me down, so I went to my bed directly, yawning big.

For a while, I heard my sister's and mom's voices outside my room. My bed was close to where everyone gathered—just one step, and I could watch if I wanted. But tonight, my eyes shut all by themselves, and dreams almost came.

***

It couldn't have been a dream. The loud crash, the shout, the voices sharp as thunder. I woke up, startled. There was a smell—metal, thick, like when you fall on the ground and scrape your knee. I peeked from under my blanket and slid towards the door, opening it just a crack.

Everything happened fast. Uncle Joe was on the floor, his leg wrapped in cloth, blood everywhere. He screamed. The sound made my skin cold. It was like an animal, not like him at all.

Mom ran around gathering rags, her lips moving fast with words I couldn't hear. My sister was kneeling by Uncle Joe, twisting more cloth around his arms. Her hands shook, and wet lines ran down her cheeks. I never saw her cry like this before.

I didn't know what to do, so I laughed quietly behind the door. Uncle kicked his feet and twitched in every direction, his face red and twisted. It was almost like he was dancing, but much scarier and sad. I wondered if he was pretending.

Slowly, Uncle stopped shouting. He stopped moving completely, "...maybe feeling tired?", I thought. The house got quiet, except for Mom's sobs and my sister whispering prayers. Uncle's body started moving by itself, jerking all over, then went still. Mom and Sister started to cry—loud, hurting cries. I wiped my own eyes, pretending my nose was itchy.

After a little while, I heard Mom tell my sister, "Pack your belongings, we are going to Molano right now. We're going now. We have to go, something strange is happening here." Her voice was high and scared. Molano city! My heart leaped. I only knew from stories—bright, busy, big. I thought, maybe, it would be a festival with games for children and fresh candy.

Suddenly, Uncle, who had stopped moving, sat up. For a moment, nobody spoke. He lunged at Mom, arms swinging. Mom jumped back with fear in her eyes. Uncle missed, but his teeth caught her leg, biting hard. Blood spread fast on her dress and the floor. My sister locked her eyes with me then grabbed my arm, yelling, "Harley! We have to go!" I heard my name like it was shouted through water.

I kept thinking. Are we playing the catching game? Is this a new game I didn't know about? My sister ran, laughing and crying at the same time, dragging me down the hallway and into the night. She said, "Come, we need to win!" I tried to run, but my knees felt wrong. We ran outside, me behind her, stumbling and half-laughing, half-crying.

***

The village looked like a festival, but it was wrong. Fires burned where no torches should be. Some villagers chased others, arms outstretched, faces blank and broken, covered with red marks. I thought, maybe, everyone was pretending to be monsters? Maybe it was the start of a new game. It was thrilling, but I was scared. I didn't know if I could play the same way. Water started flowing from my eyes.

My sister pointed to the south gate. "There!" she yelled, but just then, a deep boom came from the west gate, so loud my hands covered my ears by themselves. Trees groaned. Then one of them flew through the sky, like a stick pitched by a giant, and crashed into the house beside us. 

CRASH!

Pieces of roof and wood went everywhere.

The blast picked me up off the ground and threw me against another building. I landed hard, air whooshing from my chest. The world was spinning. I tasted dirt and copper.

My sister found me, lifted me onto her back—her hands shaking. She ran the other way, away from the south gate now blocked by broken wood and bodies. Now I was crying hard, but I didn't know what else to do.

Around us, people screamed. Some chased, some ran. I saw a woman—Aunt from next door—biting at a man's face, chewing like she would roast at a feast. Others hunched over, ignoring everything except the thing in front of them.

That was when my sister shoved me, pushing me toward the open road. "Run, Harley! I'll keep them away!" I tried to walk, but my feet weren't working. I looked back, afraid.

Just then, my sister screamed—loud as any bell in the city. Something big, shaped like a dog but wrong, with three legs and sharp, yellow teeth, crashed through the rubble. It attacked her, mouth clamped around her stomach, biting and pulling. Blood sprayed, splattering on the ground and on the faces of the other villagers.

The next thing I knew, someone strong grabbed me—one of the big boys who used to fix my hurt knees. He picked me up and ran, his steps heavy and desperate. I screamed and kicked, wanting to go back to my sister, but his grip was too tight. He whispered, "Sorry, I'm Sorry." He smelled of earth and sweat.

Then I saw my sister's eyes wide open as others fell on her, familiar and strangers at the same time, teeth and hands tearing. I couldn't look away.

Everything blurred and darkened. Roy pressed a leaf under my nose that smelled sweet. Then not long after, the world faded, and all the noise disappeared. Next thing I knew, I was far away, outside of a giant, wooden gate—the north one, the one I saw only from afar. When I woke, Roy was gone and my throat was full of screams that couldn't come out.

People walked around me but never looked down. I kept asking, "Where are Mom, Uncle Joe, and my sister?" but nobody answered. I sat by the tree beside the road and cried for a long, long time.

***

When I finished remembering, I was sitting under a strange tree in a new place. My hands were cold, gripping a sweet honey apple Juice someone gave me. Two older boys—one with kind eyes, one with a nervous smile—listened to everything I said. At first, they looked confused, then scared, then sad. They didn't speak, just patted my hair and let me lean against them. I finished my story with shaky words, not even sure if they understood.

Gilian—his name I remembered, because he gave me this cold sweet honey apple juice—asked softly, "Can you tell this story to the chief and the other? I know it is hard for you but I want the others to hear it too and know what they are thinking about it. I think it can be good information for us too." I nodded, too tired to do anything else. Arvan watched me with careful eyes, making sure I walked between them on the path to the chief's house.

They didn't laugh. They didn't tell me it was a good game. They just listened, and somehow, that made all the difference.