Oliver

My name is Oliver, and I am being punished for a crime I did not do.

         It all started when the Ancient Elves gave up on us. All the bickering and the arguing within our own race must have taken a toll on them. They said, while they were sitting high up on their pedestals, that we were not going to be able to defeat our dark enemies; the chances of us surviving were very slim. I argued back that we could.

         “Just wait and see,” I yelled, “We cannot give up hope now, when battle is so close. We have the power. United, we can defeat them!” Few listened, as I was just a boy. I tried with all my might to convince the elves and the citizens of our good land to realize this was not the end of world, that we still had hope! But, I failed.

         It was a very sad day when the Ancient Elves abandoned us to go to their paradise that only they could see. I never would have thought that the morale of our people could have gotten worse, but it did. Everyone had accepted their fate at this point and when the Great Evil Army came they all agreed to plead for surrender.

         “No,” I screamed to as many as would even turn their head, “We must fight and save ourselves.” Not a one said a word. I rode from town to town and from city to city; nobody listened besides a small group of kids.

          Ten young people, boys and girls alike, had gathered in a small peaceful village determined to defeat the Great Evil Army. They were ill prepared. With frightening few numbers and with no trustworthy weapons, they had absolutely no chance, but their pleas were very similar to mine. “We must fight to save ourselves!”

         I decided to teach them everything that my departed father taught me. We practiced combat with our stick swords until we obtained real ones, and with kind people’s bows and arrows we practiced our aim. We would also play the same defensive war games that I used to play with my older brothers and friends.

         Those around would only ridicule us. “You are no match to our great enemy,” they’d say. “Stop trying and live with what is left of your life in peace and harmony.”

         We ignored them. As the skills of this little group rapidly improved and I had done all I could for them, I started out with my “army”, as they liked to be called, to look elsewhere for more recruits. With the little success we had, we increased our numbers to a mere thirty; we decided we were all we were going to be.

         The first time we stood up against our opponent, it was also our last. They were a small band of soldiers of maybe twelve that had just plundered through my hometown. When we met them, they were towing the townspeople who had freely given themselves to our enemy in a large wooden crate. It hurt me to see my mom and my twin sister in the hands of our enemy. I pulled my sword, and with that, I heard a ring of thirty more behind me.

         Then there was the pain, a violent blinding pain. My legs buckled from underneath me and I found myself face first into the ground, dazed. I don’t remember what happed after that, because the next thing I knew was that I was running through an open field three days later with my sister by my side. She must have seen a difference in my appearance because she stopped and asked me of my health. “I’m fine,” I said as a reply. "What just happened?"

         “Quick, we must catch up with the others.” That was all that she said before she sprinted towards the setting sun.

         It was dark by the time we got there, but my sister said that we shouldn’t enter the campsite until light. “Why?” I asked. “Are they not our own people? Would they not recognize us and take us in?” I remember her sad eyes; she never wanted to answer that question.

         “Something really bad happened the other night. It wasn’t your fault; I know that. But, they won’t look at it that way.”

         “What happened?”

         “Please, don’t make me answer that.” She was crying.

         "Tell me, sister. I need to know. What happened? Where is my army?"

         "You really don't remember?"

         "No."

          My sister took a deep breath. "You fell...Mom's dead and your army...they were slaughtered and...please don't make me say any more." She cried herself to sleep that night. That night was the last night I will ever see.

         I woke this morning to see my sister nervously pacing in deep thought. After about five minutes of watching her walk back and forth, she finally looked at me and asked, “Are you ready to go?” I nodded my head and began to follow her.

         She stopped and turned to look at me. “I’m sorry, brother. I have to do this. They are my people, too. I cannot survive without them. Please, forgive me.” She walked on. I was hesitant to follow, but my curiosity kept me going. It was not long until I was surrounded by my friends.

         “Take him to see The Box,” demanded my old town leader.

         “You said you wouldn’t hurt him,” cried my sister.

         “He killed his own mother,” said an elderly lady with disgust. “Along with many other innocent people. He deserves all he gets.”

         My mouth dropped open. “What!? I would never…”

         “He was cursed by the Great Army. He knew not of what he was doing,” argued my sister. “Please, Sir. You gave me your word.”

         “Get rid of him so that he may never kill again,” roared the old town leader to the five men standing next to him, and to my sister he said, “He will be in no pain.”

         They dragged me off to a tent that was set far from the rest of the camp and they sat me down just outside of it. “I will retrieve The Box,” said the one farthest on the right. I was lucky enough to be able to obtain a piece of paper and a pen to write what I am now… I hear footsteps… He is coming

Please, if anyone reads this…