A Calendar of Tales: January

Way back in 2013, I was inspired by Neil Gaiman's A Calendar of Tales to write my own tales using the same inspirational quotes. I did not read his stories before I wrote mine, but I did read them after, and they are all awesome.

Question: Why is January so dangerous?

Answer: Because an aging veteran just retired, to be replaced by a dangerously unqualified youth, no more than a babe in arms.

“Grandfather!” Kopi wailed, watching as the beam from the Enemy's weapon cut his father's father in half. He fell upon his grandfather's torso and wept as the Enemy swept past them. Kopi didn't acknowledge them, nor they him, for he was unarmed and only a child. “No, no, no,” Kopi moaned.

Kopi lay over the blood-covered corpse of the last adult he had known alive, weeping but not sobbing. Other dead lay nearby, but he didn't look at them. There was no point. There was no point to any of this.

The Enemy came down from the sky and slaughtered The People until only children were left, living unprotected in the wilderness. They guarded the People's meager dwellings against the children until the forest reclaimed them, and would let none of the children's crude structures stand.

The Enemy were not people, but empty shells that looked like people. There was a tiny thing inside them that glowed. Kopi had seen it flee when one of them was killed, but he didn't know what it meant.

Kopi searched his grandfather's body for things he could use. He took only the smallest weapons, the most easily hidden, for the enemy would kill even a child if he was armed. Other children crept out of the cold forest and approached him. No one said anything. They all looked at the fallen man that had once been their leader, or they looked at Kopi.

A skinny girl who had been alone in the forest longer than anyone put her hand on Kopi's shoulder. He looked up at her. Her face was grim, all their faces were, but hers was especially so. It was she who finally spoke: “So what do we do?”

Kopi looked down at his grandfather. Of course, it passed down to him now. Grandfather had said as much. “It's all up to us now,” he said softly.

The girl gave a single nod and bent down to remove the old leader's badge of office. She moved to pin it to Kopi's shirt, but he stopped her. None of the other children were so well-dressed as he; the girl beside him wore nothing more than a hip-length sack dress. Clothes were not what made him leader. Blood made him leader.

Kopi's father had told him stories of their ancestors wearing their status in rings on their ears, so he moved his shaggy back hair away from his. The girl nodded fierce approval; she'd also heard these stories. She pinned his new badge of office through the cartilage of his ear. It hurt, but Kopi didn't mind. It was the least of all his hurts right now.

Many of the other children were bigger than him, but Kopi was the leader, now. He lifted his chest and gave his first command. “Gather everything you can from the dead. Food, clothing, weapons.”

“Where will we hide?” another child asked.

“We can't hide,” Kopi said. “We have to fight.”

Please comment if you feel so moved!