Okay, over at Katie's Blog, it is December Snippets of a Story time!
Slowly, the sun began to emerge from the horizon. Carlos raised himself from the cool, wet grass and stretched. Poking Lucas awake, he turned to look at the Alamo, which was quiet and still in the faint, early morning light. “Lucas,” he whispered, “Do you think we’ll attack soon?”
Lucas rubbed a hand over his unshaven face. “Probably very soon.” His voice was a bit unsteady and Carlos realized with a pang that his brother was dreading the moment when he would have to pick up his gun and begin to shoot.
He leaned his head against his brother’s shoulder and squeezed his arm. “Why don’t you just pretend to shoot?” he asked quietly, so no one else could hear but Lucas.
Lucas gave a huge sigh. “I might. I just can’t shoot a man. I can’t! I can't believe I used to think war a grand and noble thing. War is a terror, and that is it.” He spoke the words heatedly, and with great force, but in a whisper, for fear of being heard.
Carlos swallowed hard. “What if... what if something happens to you... out there?” His throat constricted at the very thought and he pressed his cheek against Lucas’ sleeve.
Lucas sat up and gave Carlos a hug. “Don’t you worry about me, little brother. I’m sure I’ll be fine. But,” he added after a pause, “you should pray too. Pray as hard as you can.” ~ Attack on the Alamo.
Nearing the Emperor’s private stage, she slowed, her ears taking in a strange sound. Was that-- was that someone singing? Confusion filled her mind and she tiptoed to the door. It was open a tiny bit and she peeked in.
Emperor Nero stood on the stage, dressed in a stage costume and playing a lyre. Amica strained to hear, and realized with horror and shock that he was singing The Sack of Troy, which was about the destruction of the city of Troy, which had burned years earlier. Bile rose to her throat and she reeled. Why, oh why was he just standing there singing while his city burned around him? True, the fire was some distance from the palace, and there was no danger at the moment of it catching on fire, but to just stand and sing!
Amica backed away from the door, her mind aching. Nero must have been the one to order Drusus to set the oil building on fire! How could there Emperor do such a thing? With anger and confusion and sadness all mixed together in her heart, Amica hurried away from the room, and began her search for Felixa. ~ Flames Through Rome.
The windowpane felt cool and smooth against her hot cheek. Francoise closed her eyes, trying to fight back the lumps in her throat. She felt as if her tiny, perfect world, free of cares and horrors, was crumbling bit by bit before her saddened eyes. Try as she may, she couldn’t stop the pieces from falling, turning to dust as they spiraled down in front of her. What would happen next? Would they too be turned in as traitors to the Republic and be killed on the guillotine? Francoise rubbed her arms, trying to make herself stop shivering and looked around her pretty bedroom, forcing herself to be calm.
Her thoughts drifted to Jeanne, whom she had seen creeping out of the house right after pappa had been shouting. Suddenly, she sat bolt upright, her heart crashing wildly around inside her chest. What if Jeanne reported them as traitors?
But no, she couldn’t! Jeanne was her friend...... wasn’t she? ~Francoise Story.
The sun streamed down from above, casting shimmering beams on the waves. A small houseboat skimmed the water, flitting here and there over the waves. Two women stood at the bow, watching the water rise, crest, and fall, foaming and splashing, sending little droplets of water into their hair and eyelashes, like little jewels of ice.
The houseboat stopped, and the younger one gripped the older on by the hand. “Are we here, Miss Telly?”
“Yes, Rita. We’re here.”
“What’s going to happen? I’m so excited I can hardly stand still!” Rita wiggled impatiently, gazing out over the water.
“Look towards the north a little,” Miss Telly instructed.
“What am I looking for?” Rita giggled, her eyes searching the waves.
“You’ll see soon enough,” prophesied Miss Telly, her own hands trembling a little. ~The Lost World.