Clouds of ash engulfing the place we called home. Swooping down the hawk latched their claws into my friend, taking him into the clouds of ash. His scream, so loud it pierced through the darkened sky. His eyes, filled with horror. I did not know this would be the last time I ever saw my friend again.
The morning started off brisk, like every other morning in Burrowston. Now, the town of Burrowston is not like any other town as it lies in the depths of the wheat fields, right below the stone mountains. Home to thousands of mice, this place never lost the busy feel of rodents running through the sunday markets and the baby mice playing in the dirt roads. Burrowston was known as the safe haven capital to all mice living in the wheatfields. From protecting mice from the giants that lived beyond the stone mountains and the hawks that stalked above the fields, this place was the ideal home for mice just like myself. I was given the name, John, from my two loving parents who both worked as tower guards on the outskirts of the wheatfields. My parents both loved their job dearly, so much to the point where I found myself following in their footsteps, enrolling into the tower watch guard program last winter. Luckily, a good buddy of mine named Paul was joining me on this endeavor and would be right by my side.
And that’s how we found ourselves, during that brisk morning on the upper section of the watchtowers, scouting out into the deep forests. The day was a normal one with the usual lunch chime from the clock tower and the bustle from downtown. Paul and I had been making our usual shift changes to make sure we didn’t doze off while having our eyes glued to the distant forest. All up until 15:00, everything had been going smoothly. That’s until Paul caught a light hint of smoke coming from the southside of the stone mountains. Both Paul and I grabbed our long range telescopes and saw the plumes of smoke rising above the tops of the mountains. From the lower decks of the watchtowers, we heard the general rodent start to yell, “Fire! Fire! Fire!”. As Paul and I kept our telescopes on the plumes of smoke, we started to see the flames that grew with it and the giants in the far distance. We had heard legends of the great burn centuries ago and feared that it may happen again. Here we are, Paul and I, looking out to the far flames growing rapidly and spreading near the wheatfields. We both knew that once the wheatfields caught on fire, there was no telling what creatures would come to feast on Burrowston.
The bells were ringing, alarming all rodent citizens to seek cover as the fire had just reached the west side of the wheatfields. Paul and I knew that it would soon be every man for himself, but that did not stop us from sticking together. As we ascended down the ladders of the watch tower, a high screech was heard above. IT WAS THE HAWK. Paul yelled to me, “Go! We must waste no time!”. Paul and I huddled to the floor of the wheatfields as the fire had reached the outskirts of the watchtowers. The flames grew fast, leaving no cover for either me or Paul. We decided at that moment that we would go back to the watchtower to seek cover. As Paul and I ran, we heard the hawk soar closer to the grounds. After sprinting for our lives, we reached the towers in hopes of refuge. We looked out to the burning fields where hawks were swooping in to grab all the fleeing mice. Paul and I knew we had just made it in the nick of time, or so we thought. I turned my back to search for some possible food and that’s when I heard the screech. I looked back and saw Paul being pummeled to the ground by the hawk’s talons. Paul yelled to me, “John, HELP!”. I sprinted to him as fast as I could but the hawk was too quick. Paul flew into the air and as I looked at him one final time before he would disappear into the clouds of ash, a tear trickled down my eye. That was the last I saw of Paul.
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