Hopefully, I still had a home to return to. Only one thought registers in my mind, to return home at once. Yet it falls instead, my fingers release the tightly woven thing, letting the apples tumble all around. I feel as if I could snap it at any moment. The basket that contains the apples I had picked is clutched far too tightly in my hand. My green eyes sweep the barren landscape, nothing but dust. The tears seem frozen in my eyes, or they lie, dried upon my cheeks. Wails, screams, and weeping is the only thing that can be heard now.
The wind that so many a time had carried with it the laughter of our village, song, merriment now only brought sorrow. Yet the true reminder of the horror that had occurred hours before, lay on the wind. The village was at last safe, the fires have spent themselves, leaving charred homes. A sky full of smoke, ash, and storm clouds. That was all that was currently apparent to me. Oceans apart, and they still managed to have the same idea. For instance, when the wright brothers began building their plane in North America, an engineer in Asia just so happened to invent the plane at the same time. But ingenuity is hard to come by these days, and everything is a copy of something. I just happened to think a story like this needed to be published, and since great minds think alike I am sorry if this is similar to one of your stories. This is my story, I apologize ahead of time if this follows your plot in any way.
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