The sun is shining in the sky with no clouds to cover its magnificence. It gives them ample warmth and affection much to their dismay. A gentle wind blows through semi-plowed fields, caressing the faces of the hard working. Taking a moment, a man in his mid-20s wearing a broad-brimmed hat stops his plow in hand. Looking up, he closes his eyes. He stretches his arms and cracks his back, groaning as he felt the strain loosening. Taking a long and deep breath, he fills his lungs with much needed respite before turning his head towards his field. With a heavy sigh, he crouches down to remove the weeds before tossing it into his unfastened wicker basket. Wiping sweat from his brow, he quickly moves his hands and body so that he can escape the sun’s overbearing attention. 

Putting the basket over his shoulders with a grunt, the field-hand throws his collection of weeds onto his shoulders. Taking heavy steps down the dirt path leading back to the village, he passes by others like him. Noticing a patch of orange accompanied by burnt skin up ahead, the man in the broad-brimmed hat grins; showing his discolored teeth. With quickness begetting the accumulated fatigue of a day’s hard work, he kicked up dust as he got nearer to who he wanted to “greet.” Using the forward momentum from his dash, the farmer proceeds to send a stellar kick directed at the posterior of the unsuspecting man leaving a brown foot-print and causing him to tumble forward with an oof. 

Mouth full of dirt and dead weeds all over, a man is now lying flat in the middle of the road. Raising his sun-burnt face, reflecting the color of rage in his heart, the orange-haired man glares at the person responsible for his plight. “Randall, you ass!” he screams, “Why the hell do you keep doing that?! You piece of shite!”

Not minding the blatant hostility, the broad-brimmed-hatted man shows his yellow teeth and extends a helping hand to the one on the ground. “What do you mean? I didn’t do anything. You must have tripped James,” says Randall as he chuckles.

“Okay. Sure. Whatever, Randall.” Taking a sigh James utters, “Whatever you say… Fucking prick…” Whispering the last sentiment under his breath, he receives Randall’s assistance.

Not missing the quiet words, Randall quickly asks, brows raised in an exaggerated manner and with a stupid-looking grin, “What was that? Care to say that again?”

Done with the shenanigans, James rolls his eyes as he stands up and with a sunken expression tells his prankster his not-so-hidden thoughts. “You’re a fucking prick, Randall.”

Choking on spit and saliva, the supposed prick tries to muster a reply amongst his incessant giggling. “That is true. I am a big prick,” the prankster remarks pointing to his genitals as he shuffles his brow. The straight-man of the comedic duo stands there with no expression other than disappointment. Briefly closing his eyes, he gives a quick sigh before bending over to gather the refuse that had fallen out of his container while his other half stood there; still pointing to his crotch and wearing that dumb expression of his. Getting no reaction from his companion, Randall quickly broke out of his goofy state and corrected his inconvenience. Throwing the weeds into James’ basket, he apologizes. “Sorry James. I just couldn’t help myself,” scrunching up his face trying to be more amiable.

James stares at him. “Randall,” the disgruntled man starts, “you have done this every day since the turn of the season.” Sighing, he continues, “It was fun the first couple of times but it has gotten really stale,” proceeding to bring the basket filled with weeds to his right shoulder. He faces away from Randall as he starts to walk. He stops and turns his head to stare down his friend and says, “Are you not clever enough to be anything else but be a prick?” 

Shook by this comment, Randall frowns and brings his hand to his chin. Standing in the middle of the dirt path, men and women with baskets similar to his pass by him as his friend, James, walks further away. Furrowing his brow, he looks off to the distance—trying to find that something that he is searching for. Eventually the tension in his brow loosens and he parts his lips once more to reveal a discolored yellow. He sprints after his mocker, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. Catching up to James and passing by him, Randall blocks his path with his legs spread apart. Index fingers jutting out, he points to his crotch again and states loudly, “You’re just jealous cause you’re not a big prick!” while wiggling his eyebrows once more.

Shutting his eyes tightly and taking a sharp inhale at this comment, James just shakes his head slowly. He opens his eyes and with a drooping stare, lifts his right hand up and repeatedly moves it back and forth asking, “Why. Why do I even bother with you?”

“I dunno. Haha.”

James continues to shake his head, walking past Randall. “I’m not going to deal with you anymore today,” he states. “I’m tired and hungry and I am just not going to deal with shite right now.” Sighing, he continues on with his rant, “Ridiculous. Just… just ridiculous.” 

Being left behind a second time, Randall quickly spins around and jogs to catch up to James. Left without any jokes, the prankster decides to ask the mundane. “So, are you heading to village compost?” motioning to the wicker basket on his back. 

Lips upturned; James looks at Randall in silence. “I am,” as he huffs another sigh during his answer. Losing the annoyance that he had towards the joker, he continues the conversation as he asks, “You hungry?” 

Bringing his gaze upward, Randall stares at the cloudless sky. Blinking a couple of times as light shines brightly in his eyes, he hears his stomach gurgle. He directs his sight towards the origin. Rubbing and patting it, he answers back, “Yeah. Pretty hungry I suppose.”

“I got a chicken back at my home that still needs to be roasted.”

“Oh! I love chicken!” comments Randall smacking his lips with much vigor. “Are you asking me to come over tonight for dinner?” 

Lamenting over whether or not if he wanted the man that kicked him to the ground in his home, he comes to a conclusion. “I suppose. Not like I got a woman in my life,” casting his eyes slightly down as he states the condition of his love life. 

“Ah come on James,” says Randall as he starts to comfort his friend. Wrapping one arm around his friend’s shoulder, “You’ll find a great woman eventually. One that would roast all of your chickens! It might not be today, but surely in the future!” he says with vigor while he waves his hand from left to right. James though, rolls his eyes once more at the joker’s words. Noticing that his friend’s mood did not improve after his assurance, Randall brings him closer to his body, putting him into a headlock and simply states, “If not. You could always marry a goat and get it over with!” finishing the statement with a hearty laugh.

Raising the right side of his lip and furrowing his brow, “And be known as the goat fucker of Norbury Village? By the Gods no,” he says cringing at the thought.

Shrugging his shoulders, Randall comments, “Doesn’t sound too bad to me. I’ve heard there is a guy that married a goat in neighboring village.” Giving it some more thought, he adds, “There probably a whole slew of men who married goats in Wonera. Probably means that goat sex is phenomenal,” finishing his sentence nodding and grinning while tightening the headlock on his friend.

Having enough of this mistreatment, James grunts, “Get off me!” Wrenching off the arms around his neck, he aggressively pushes Randall and loudly states, “Forget about coming over!” Shaking his hands at the man with his eyes wide-open, “You seriously need to learn how to respect personal space!” The man then storms off huffing and puffing and doesn’t look back at the fool whom he left behind for a third time.

“Ahhh come on James,” says Randall as he runs to catch up. “Don’t be like that. I got some wine back at my house that I can bring over,” he states trying to rouse an interest. “It’s the good stuff I got from Leonard when he went to the capitol,” he comments trying to win over the peeved.

Tilting his head and giving a strong glare at the joker, he states his sentiments. “You can bring the wine and come over but you dare touch me again...” and making sure that he is making eye contact with Randall he finishes with a pause, “I’ll throw you out and break your goddamn legs.”

Chills ran down his spine. Seeing the look in James’ eyes made Randall recoil a bit. Raising his hands, palms open, he squeezes out what he needed to say. “No more touching. Gotcha.” Quickly moving his hands to the straps on his shoulders, Randall slips his thumbs under and clenches them. Readjusting the straps to a more comfortable position, he continues onward to the village compost with the moody man. With his hands to himself, Randall continues with the conversation from before. “How tough do you think courting a goat would be?”

“Why are you bringing this up to me?”

“Just trying to make conversation, friend.”

“Please just shut up. Just shut your mouth. I cannot handle this stupidity right now.”

Their banter continues on as they walk. The sun high in the air is now making it way behind the horizon. An orange hue basks the two villagers and those around them making headway towards their homes. With laughter and gossip abound and conversations between neighbors and friends, dusk approaches, letting Norbury Village, that today’s toil, is coming to an end.

Inside a small wooden house, a fireplace is lit. Its flames illuminate the interior of this home, revealing the amenities inside. A bed in the corner, table and chairs placed in the center, and large clay pots filled with water next to the light source. A wooden window is open to let fresh air circulate throughout the room. At the table, there are two men in conversation with a partly-eaten roasted chicken set between them. A wine bottle is open and drinks have been poured. On one side of the table, sits a man wearing a hat indoors. On the other side, a man with orange hair and sun-burnt skin. 

Taking a sip of the wine with his dominant hand, Randall sits it down on the table asking James, “You think goats make good housekeepers? I mean, a guy married one in the village over,” he says with a flushed face. 

“This again? The guy is a goat fucker. He fucks goats. Why would he care about whether or not his bride would be a good housekeeper?” James remarks as he takes a large swig. Extending his forefinger with cup in hand, he points at the inquisitor and says, “If anything, the bride would probably just shit and piss everywhere rather than tidy up.”

Raising an eyebrow, Randall poses a question. “Then why marry it?” he proposes as he takes a bite out of a chicken leg. Mouth full with meat, the confused man goes on to say, “Seems like a lot of trouble just to fuck some barn animal.”

Ripping a piece of the breast from the roasted chicken, James truthfully answers, “Maybe he just wanted to see how good goat pussy was.” He pops the ripped chicken into his mouth and washes it down with some wine. “Some people are just like that,” he says shrugging his shoulders.

A couple of drinks in and knee deep in a conversation about goats and their lovers, Randall starts to hear something faint coming from outside. “Hey. You hear that?” he quizzically asks.

“Hear what?” questions James as he takes another swig from his wine cup.

Bringing a finger to his lips Randall shushes James. Looking around and cupping his hands to his ears, he closes his eyes and says, “Just listen.”

Silence permeated throughout the room, the only sound being the crackling of the embers. Seconds pass in this deafened environment, but then a faint voice could be heard coming from the open window. 

“e… er… ack...! W… u… at…! e‘r… nd… t…!”

Unable to understand what the voice was saying, both Randall and James stood up, scooching the chairs they were sitting on backwards with a slight screech. Being the one closer to the window, Randall quickly walks to it and sticks his head out. Too dark to discern anything distinct, he yells out, “Anyone there?” Feeling the cool summer night’s wind, the confused joker waits a minute for a response. Hearing nothing other than the whistling of the wind, he turns his head and says to James, “Huh. I guess it was just the w—" before getting cut off by a horribly high-pitched scream that is reminiscent of someone getting stabbed. Soon after, the darkness blanketing the sleeping village is lifted; revealing a scenery bathed in red and orange flowers and pillars of gray and black.

“WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!! WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!! WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!!”

The faint voice that is now a screech echoes throughout the room. The hairs on the necks of both men instantly rose. Randall looks towards James. His wide-brimmed hat clearly trembling, he is about to ask his trusted friend what they should do before noticing his demeanor. James’ eyes were wide open and quivering. His body froze, but quaking as if he were shivering. They lock eyes. Opening and closing his mouth multiple times, Randall manages to utter the question that needed to be answered, “Wh-what do we do?” In one word, being summed up so eloquently, James says the answer. 

“RUN.”

Immediately sobering up, both men sprint into action. Knocking over the table, James spills the good wine all over the floor along with the half-eaten chicken as he makes his way to the door. He swings it open, slamming the door face on the interior wall. Quickly following him, Randall jumps through the window, but catches his foot on the sill. His face makes direct contact with the dirt floor, breaking his nose. Raising his face, it reveals that the fool is bleeding profusely from the noise and his eyes are unsteady. 

“By the Gods, Randall!” yells James, noticing the joker’s state before sprinting off. He berates him, “WHY THE FUCK DID YOU JUMP OUT OF THE WINDOW?! YOU STUPID IDIOT! DAMMIT!” before helping him up to his feet.

“I-I’m sorry James…” he sheepishly replies as he steadies himself with his friend's assistance.

“SAVE THE APOLOGIES FOR LATER!” stopping his friend from saying anything further. “WE NEED TO GET OUT NOW!”

“R-right!!” Randall agrees as he pinches his nose to stop the bleeding. 

Standing up he quickly follows James as they run past the homes of friends and neighbors amongst the crackling embers and wood splintering surrounds them. Sweating and with wet spots under the pits, Randall uses his hat to cover his mouth and nose and James uses his shoulder. Clanging of steel and iron resounding off in the distance are heard as they continue onwards. Close and far screams of familiar and unfamiliar voices seem to surround them. Turning the corner, they see a rough-looking man in worn-leather armor holding a bloody and rusted sword in his right hand while the other is dragging a struggling, crying young boy by the hair. His father is seen nearby face down in a puddle of blood. 

Throwing the boy to the ground with a grunt, the raider delivers a kick at the child yelling. “Stop Moving! You fucking BRAT!” as he kicks him a second time. The kid coughs up blood as he scrunches up into a ball, holding his stomach tightly.

With the abundance in illumination despite the time of night, Randall takes notice of who the currently abused child is. He’s Leonard’s son, Paul. 

“Paul!!” screams Randall as he starts to sprint.

The Abuser turns to the sound source. Before he could finish, “What the f—" Randall tackles him to the ground.

After mounting him on the ground, Randall balls his fists up and starts to flail his arms at the attacker. Not caring where it landed, he continues to swing his fists as hard as he can against the man. James, who was not too far from them, clenches his jaw and he too sprints towards the raider. Quickly arriving at the spot, James sends a swift kick to the temple of the dirt-covered pillager trying to defend himself against the fool of a man that he calls friend. The assailant goes limp, but Randall doesn’t stop.

“Randall. Randall! RANDALL!!” yells James as he tries to snap his friend out of his daze by kicking him over with just enough force.

“Uh, ah, wha?” says the prankster as he sat there looking at the person who had kicked him over.

“We need to move now! We can’t be wasting anymore time! Now let’s go!” scolds James as he grabs Randall’s arm to force him up.

Looking towards Paul then towards Leonard, Randall hesitantly asks, “Wh-what about Paul and Leonard?” as he stares at the ever-growing pool of red.

With furrowed brows, James looks at Leonard. He grits his teeth, showing them through his lips and states, “Leonard’s already dead,” pointing at the pool big enough to encircle an adult.

“Leonard…” Randall whispers, “I’ve never got to thank you for that wine you gifted me,” he finishes with tears welling up in his eyes.

Seeing Randall in such a state makes James look away with his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. He then looks towards Paul, still on the ground gripping his stomach with both arms. James jogs towards where Paul is balled up at. Laying a gentle hand onto the kid, he shakes him with care and asks softly, “Paul? Paul, you alright buddy?” The young boy’s face was flushed and sweating. Gritting his teeth, a trail of blood seeps through the corner of his lips. His eyes are shut tightly. Hands clenching his shirt to avoid the intense throbbing in his stomach. Trying to listen for a response, all that the fearful man could hear is the quick and fast gasps coming from the child. “This doesn’t look good…” James laments as he picks Paul up like a newborn. Slowly moving his gaze towards the unconscious man on the floor; James stares at the sword, points with his chin, and says to his grieving friend, “Randall, we need the sword.” His friend glances at Paul for a moment with quivering eyes and responds with action. Quickly moving to the unconscious man, Randall grabs the sword from the raider’s limp hand. A single moment passes by after he picks the sword up before the fool abruptly stomps his heel into the abuser’s face. Concaving the attacker’s nose as a consequence. 

As he makes his way towards James, Randall notices a surprised expression on his sun-burnt face. Assuming that the reason why is because of his actions, the joker frowns and points towards the assailant and bluntly states, “Fuck that guy.” 

Smirking in agreement, James walks up to the aforementioned, gathers all the mucus in his throat, and coughs and spits it onto the raider’s face. “Yeah, fuck this guy,” he scoffs, turning and walking away as he cradles Paul in his arms. 

James meet’s Randall’s eyes with his own. Two men are staring at each other: one with a child in his arms and the other with a sword in hand. Nodding, both of them state what is on their minds. At the same time, both men in unison state, ““Let’s go,”” before running off in between the ruined scenery.

Running, making various turns, and dodging falling pillars of fire as they go, Randall and James pass by familiar faces that litter the ground. Old Man Jacobs, Edward, and Peter. They pass these strewn men; all lying in their own fluids, bodies filled with lacerations and stab wounds.  The duo swallow hard as they pass by the people they knew growing up. James unconsciously holds Paul closer to his chest. Seeing those who were alive yesterday laying on the roadside like dead vermin gives the man cold sweats despite the roaring heat around him. Randall grips the blade in his hand tighter; turning his knuckles white in the process. He looks towards Paul and sees his expression. Pain. So much pain. It hurts Randall seeing someone like this, especially a child he knows intimately. Seeing their once-alive neighbors and an innocent child in excruciating pain makes the pair anxious, but that wanes the moment “hope” is seen.

“I think we’re almost at the edge of the village!” exclaims Randall seeing a clearing in the distance. He starts to put more energy into his stride. Running in front of his two companions he makes way for them as he heads towards refuge.

Hearing Randall’s statement, James looks down at Paul. He notices that the boy is still flush and sweating, but the tension is loosening up on his face. The small hands losing their strength as his hold on his shirt lessens. His breathing is less rugged than before and it looks more balanced. The orange-haired man whispers to the boy, “Paul! It’s alright now! We are almost at safety! Just a little more to go!” not knowing whether or not the boy was conscious. Moving his gaze away from the kid in his arms, James puts strength into his legs. Closing the distance between him and sanctuary.

Arriving at the clearing, the escapees’ hopes were not met. Seeing carts and wagons, Randall and James both come face a group of 9 raiders armed with swords, axes, and bows and arrows with some of them holding torches. They are dressed in simple leather armor that has not seen proper maintenance in years over dirt-and-grass stained wool clothing. Behind them are people that they recognize. Eliza, Janette, Grace. Mary, Esther, Candice. Tom, Arthur, and Elliot. Wives, sisters, daughters, young sons and brothers of the dead men seen laying not too long ago.

“Where in the blazes is Eric? That dickwad is always fucking late,” says one of the raiders. 

Another clicks his tongue before exclaiming, “Fucker probably got himself killed in the fire. Idiot is never awa—” before cutting himself off as he notices the duo with a kid in one of their arms; alerting the others in his group.

“Hey, isn’t that Eric’s crappy sword?” a raider asks.

“Oh shit! The guy actually got himself killed!” one exclaims. “That is goddamn hilarious!” he continues with laughter. 

“Hey, shouldn’t we capture those guys?” one asks. “You know? Before they leave?”

“Boss told me to kill the ones that fight back. Clients don’t want fighters,” says the leader of the group. He looks towards the sword in Randall’s hand and nonchalantly says, “That guy has Eric’s sword, so I’m pretty sure that they’re gonna make this hard,” as he equips his one-handed axe. “Keep the kid alive though,” he finishes.

“Gotcha, Francis. keep the kid alive,” one reaffirms the orders while the rest of the unruly crew unsheathe their weapons.

The sword that Randall is holding can be seen shaking erratically and James can feel his knees knocking against each other violently. Randall looks towards the orange-haired man, eyes so lost, and opens his mouth and asks his friend, “J-James… What do we do? What do we do? James what do we do…” he repeats over and over.

“I-I don’t know… I-I-I don’t know…” 

The two are slowly being surrounded by the bandits. With the heat ever growing behind them, they grow more and more fearful with each step the raiders took. And with each step, the shaking and confusion grew within the duo. Randall’s mind is in turmoil. He is sweating profusely and is breathing heavily through his mouth. He feels the hot air entering his lungs as he watches the men around him get closer with sinister intentions. Chaos runs rampant around the joker’s psyche before coming to a conclusion.

“Get away from my friends!!” Randall screams as he charges forward towards the scar-ridden leader; screeching like a banshee mildly startling some of the raiders. As he makes his way towards the pillagers, he closes his eyes and starts to swing the sword with both hands wildly. The sword slices the wind making a whistling sound, but fails to cut any of the bandits. Not caring if he misses or not, Randall continues to swing erratically as he moves forward, hoping that his efforts could at least take one of them down. The fool hopes for too much.

The leader of the group easily sidesteps one of Randall’s swings, trips him, and promptly sends his axe down upon Randall’s skull sending bits of his skull flying into the crowd of captured women. Terrible shrieking is then heard as the innocent watch on. Using one hand then two not soon after, the raider grunts, “Ah, shit. My axe is stuck in this guy’s fucking head…” He then places a foot onto Randall’s head with a creak. Applying ample pressure with his dominant foot, creaking sounds of bone splintering are heard as the raider finally manages to wrench his axe free. 

James witnesses Randall’s failed charge and its consequences. He feels nauseous. Incredibly nauseous. The orange-haired man feels his arms shaking from Paul’s weight. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. Feeling a warmth spreading down his pants, his knees collapse onto the grass. “P-p-please. Mercy. Have mercy please…” James whimpers, averting his eyes downward as he clutches the boy in his arms. 

The killer walks to the collapsed man. He squats and rests the freed axe on his shoulder. Using his open hand, the murderer grabs James’ chin and forces his face upward. Staring at each other face to face, the villager sees the features of this man. Large scar on his right cheek, unkempt beard and moustache, and empty eyes. James grits his teeth, sucks in his lips, and opens his eyes wide. He furrows his brow as he breathes heavily waiting for the bandit’s next action. Pointing with his chin, the killer orders, “Go over there with the kids.” He lets go of James’ chin as the villager shakily gets up with Paul in his arms and walks to where he was ordered to go. Still squatting, the bandit then says, “Actually, hand the kid over to one of the women here.”

James is unable to resist the commands given to him, he goes over to the older Jannette. He whispers, “Take care of Paul. He’s really hurt,” as he hands over the boy to her. Janette nods as she receives Paul. 

The killer stands. He puts both hands on his hips and stretches his back. He grabs his axe hand and gives it a pull over his head. “Alright. Come over here,” he says turning around towards James, pointing to the ground in front of him. The orange-haired man complies, as he shakily goes towards his commander. He arrives at his destination and looks at the feet of the bandit. The bandit smirks and circles around James to his left and wraps his free arm around James’ neck. “Hey, don’t worry,” he whispers to James’ ear. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says letting go of the villager. With all eyes on the pair, the bandit then walks in front of him. Bouncing the one-handed axe on his shoulder, he stops. Instinctively, James closes his eyes—anticipating what was to come. In the next moment, the villager finds himself on his knees and hands. He feels a searing sensation on his shoulder. The bandit lifts his axe up and smashes it downwards. His axe finds its place behind a skull. Lifting it again, the bandit swings it again with a grunt spraying blood all over. Roughly hitting the same spot as his previous strikes, the killer growls as he uses two hands for the final blow: severing James’ head and causing his body to collapse on the floor. With the head severed; the group leader grabs it, raises it for all to see, and states loudly, “If you are out of line or dare do anything we don’t like…” as he throws the head and makes it roll, “Then you’ll end up like these two,” he finishes pointing to James’ severed head then Randall’s corpse. There is no response from the captured women and children. Unable to utter a single sound, they just nod their heads in agreement to his statement. Pushing them into the cages found in the carts and wagons, the bandits lock their gains away.

Leaving Norbury Village, the women and children look back to their burning homes through the cage bars. Orange dyed parts of the night sky as they watch the buildings fall over. They hear a crack followed by a horse's cry; all accompanied by the feelings of movement. The creaking of the wagons and clanging of metal dominate the air space. Some of the women find solace in the embrace of their friends while the children fall asleep in their respective mother’s arms. The Summer night’s wind breezes over them, bringing them no comfort in this ill-gotten place. Night has come and with it comes the cold and unfeeling embrace of darkness.