Young Writers Society

Ah, ‘tis a mix of emotions I feel as, in the dead of night, I peer out my window to see rows of soldiers in uniform rows. Their weapons strapped to their backs glint evilly in the flickering light of a streetlamp, whilst their faces glint with a mixture of sweat and blood- theirs, I do not know. I do not even want to know. Once-crisp britches and coats are also splattered with the stuff, adding to the overall eerie majesty of the group.

I am not sure if I am the only one to witness their arrival, but I cannot be the only one affected by it. For, in itself, ‘tis a blessign and a curse to have His Majesty’s army come to town.