Village. Silent. (freewrite)

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The night was quiet. Not one soul in town dared make a noise, for fear something out there would hear them. It had been so long since anyone heard them, but things were a-changing now. Young Peter, the blacksmith's son, had rushed back one morning after going far out to hunt, yelling his head off about noises. Well, not yelling, but the agitation, the flow of blood in the boy's cheeks had been enough to set a whole town on fire.
Noises. People. Danger. The way their minds worked was all rather simple, the boy had heard something, in the bushes, perhaps behind the trees. He hadn't hung around long enough to establish where the noise was coming from and needless to say, he'd returned empty handed. Everyone's blood soured at the news. It had been so long since they'd had a disturbance and everything was going swimmingly, really. Young children were being born every month, there was happiness, joy at the simplest things and the crop had been good these past three years. Things finally seemed to be settling. But then, the noises happened.

Tara pushed her rose pedals down with a passion, not much interest in where she was going. Her focus was on what was at her back, she needed to warn the others before it was too late. The monster was coming to their town, just now. She'd been foolish really, riding her bike so far out. But the truth was, nobody noticed her anymore, ever since her older brother Peter had come home, the bearer of bad news, everyone huddled around him – the poor boy who'd seen the monsters. Or near enough. Besides which, her father was very busy – the need for weapons had never been greater.

'We need these to protect ourselves,' he'd tell Tara whenever she snuck into his shop and she knew not to bother him anymore. Not now, Tara. With her father working and her mother always running about, cooking like a maniac – as if that was going to save them from the coming invasion – or fussing over Peter, Tara was left standing on her own, to the side of the house, feeling like she didn't even know what home was anymore.

She looked down at her rose pedals – the ones she used to call rose petals, because they were pink and she thought that was the word – and she thought she'd known. She told herself many a night that they would do the trick, she could just get on her bike and ride away, her rose pedals would carry her far from here. But they did not. When she'd skidded into the forest, she'd been scared, but it wasn't really a biggie. She picked herself up. She'd never been one to cry, so she dusted off her anorak and made as if to get on again. But something moved to her left and she turned just in time to catch a glimpse of his long beard and greedy hands.

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Tara ducked and pushed her foot out as hard as she could, kicking the stranger in the shin so that he screamed and fell down, whimpering, clutching at his leg. She would've liked to do it again, to make sure he wouldn't follow, but his hands terrified her, the thought he could reach out at any moment and grab her. She didn't know exactly what would happen once he did grab her. Her parents had never gone into details, but she was assured it would be gruesome. So she jumped on her bike and started pedaling as fast as she could, making her way back to the town. She knew she'd lead the bearded man straight to them, but she couldn't afford to care, because the only option was the great big world out there and she didn't want to live that.
She went so fast she almost crashed into the side of the house. The girl dumped her bike on the grass outside and ran in, where she couldn't find her mother, so she waited. She made sure the door was locked and hid under the table, waiting for the bearded man to come after her. She would've warned everyone, that had been her plan, after all. But seeing the comforting walls of home, she'd chickened out. She should've done the right thing, she should've told everyone, just like Peter had. Everyone had loved Peter after he came down from the mountain, speaking of monsters. But she could not, she couldn't bring herself to do that, so it was every man for himself. They'd all have to face the bearded man alone.

Although he didn't look quite so wild, just a little unruly, the girl thought, shivering under the table. Still, he was not to be trusted. Her father had told her, many times, that they looked just like them. She couldn't let herself be fooled by the fact the man looked normal. He was not. He was one of the others, the reason her folk had run away.

But the man never came. She waited for about an hour, until she had the guts to stand up again and go look for her family. Her mother was out back, roasting a chunk of meat above the fire, oblivious to what had been going on.
'What is it, luv?' she cried and Tara ran into her arms.
'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' the little girl wept, over and over, as if that would erase her sins.
'What happened?'
Her mother was shaking her now, serious, face heavy with a frown. 'What have you done, Tara?' Nearly screaming now.
'I went...to the woods,' she hiccuped as she told, because she didn't want to tell, 'and I saw.'
'What did you see?'
But it was a stupid question, really, because they both knew the answer. 'One of them.'
And Tara's mother hugged the little girl to her heart and swallowed her tears. Although she was furious, this was no time to weep or shout. It was official now, they'd been found.

They carried the news from house to house, of the bearded man in the woods, lying in wait for little errant children. There were probably dozens of them, surrounding the village, but that needn't matter, they'd be ready when the time came. They'd been readying themselves for fifteen years and although it had seemed almost easy at times, they'd all known this time would come. It only stood to reason that someone, at some point, would find them. Even in the heart of the mountains, you can't stay lost forever. As the men of the town readied for war, the women were left to care for the children, who – for lack of a better plan – had all been assembled in the meeting hall. It was safe there, everyone said, even if it wasn't much more than a very large barn. Tara's mum sat in a corner, surrounded by a bunch of little ones, all staring at her with, wide, tellmemore eyes.

'Who are they?' Tara finally asked, drawing even more eyes to her mother. They'd known this moment would come as well, the moment they'd have to tell their children what they had run from.
'Dangerous men,' her mother hesitated, but the children weren't fooled. Words like dangerous suddenly lose their hold on the brink of war. 'Alright,' she looked up at the mass of kids of all ages, all staring at her, eating her words up.
'The world we lived in when we were young was very different to the one you know now. There were a lot of angry people back then, monstrous people who would kill you if you opened your mouth. You know all the stories I used to tell you about that horrible ogre?' she asked, turning to her daughter for a bit of support.
Tara nodded eagerly, mouthing the ogre's name, but her mother didn't catch it. 'Well, it was kinda like that ogre, only there were ogres everywhere, the world was going mad. People were screaming at each other, killing each other and we...I guess we only wanted to find someone who saw through the madness. We were quiet then, we had to be, because if we said anything, we knew we'd be caught, tortured, even killed perhaps. So, we'd give a nod, a whisper and little by little, we found people who thought the same way, who remembered a world from before, a world that hadn't gone crazy. Everyone tells you you're supposed to be a big hero, to stand up, to speak out. But often, the best thing to do not to get yourself killed is just slide along, until they don't see you anymore. That's what we did, we ran, but slowly. One by one, we disappeared from our lives and nobody wondered where we'd gone. Nobody could hear enough through all that noise, anyway, so a few missing kids hardly mattered.'
'Is that them outside, the ogres?' Peter asked, voice sober and strong. He was still angry at his father for leaving him in with the children.
Their mother nodded and several children gasped. There were real ogres outside, monsters, bad people looking to hurt them. And while she knew her mum hadn't actually meant it, Tara couldn't help thinking those ogres looked an awful lot like regular men.

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The men of the town, led by Tara's father, for he was strong and capable, patrolled the surrounding woods. They started methodically, from opposite sides, a group of twenty-five men on each part, coming together towards a center, cornering them, hunting them down. But the hunt turned sour, fruitless almost. They were fewer than the villagers had imagined.
'This must've been their sentinel, their scouts, perhaps,' Tara's father proclaimed, standing over the three bloodied bodies his men had torn apart. He picked up the gun one of them had been holding, right before he died and held it up for everyone to see, to remember just what these savages were capable of. 'They would have killed us, so we had to kill them. There will be more coming soon, possibly. So we must remain guarded.'

Of course, it was possible that seeing these three didn't make it back, the enemies would not come forward, maybe they'd be scared at the villagers' force. You don't go to a place from where others don't return, do you? In their hearts, the men all hoped this was true, that this was the last they saw of the outsiders, at least for a time.

And somewhere far away, three families waited – three women and five children, who'd run up the walk every time they heard a car approaching, only to find it wasn't their father's. The families of the three hunters waited for someone who was never coming back.
And although they would never know each other, Tara sometimes thought about them. The families of those ogres who looked so much like men. She wondered if ogre children miss their parents like she sometimes missed hers. And sometimes, in the darkest of night, she thought that maybe it was all her fault, that those imagined ogre children were fatherless because of her.

End.

Today's story was inspired by the words 'rose pedals'. Now, I have no idea if @mariannewest meant petals or what not, this is what came up. Anyway, check her out.

Thank you for reading,