He took a deep breath and stepped out onto the street. It was silent, trash rolling about in the wind. Boards covered most of the shop windows. A wistful sigh escaped his lips as he remembered peering into those windows as a child. The baker down the street used to have a beautiful display of cakes and cookies. The milliner used to always have a whimsical display of busts wearing colorful hats. These days, children didn't spend time ogling the pretty windows displays; there was nothing to see so they hurried down the street, baskets full of rotten food.
He picked a broken spinning top off the ground and held it tight. His chest ached. Kids used to play. They used to laugh so loud he could hear it over the hustle and bustle of the city. Now he was lucky if he even heard a whispered conversation.
He knew what he had to do. He had to end this. He had to break his promise.
The walk out of the city was lonely and scarred with trash and rubble. The apartments on the outer wall were merely piles of bricks. Thousands of people used to live there, happy and ignorant. Now, a foul stench covered the area. He let his eyes roam the area, searching for any sign of life. All he saw was death.
Outside the broken walls, it was worse. The little houses that dotted the countryside were replaced with black scars. The gold fields of wheat were flat and grey. The large maples that once line the roads were strung with bones. They rattled in the gentle wind, stirring anger in his soul.
His father told him the anger would be the death of him. But he didn't care. He hadn't done anything and look what happened. All his friends were gone. They either ran or died, but either way they suffered. And it was because he did nothing. Because of that promise.
Their camp came into sight as he topped the last hill. The forest he once explored as a child was now a sea of purple and gold banners. Emblazoned in the center, that golden flower mocked him. To his people, it was a symbol of life and healing, but these cruel knights used it as a stanchion of death.
His chest boiled as he watched them prepare for the final onslaught. To one side, skinny people in cages were harassed with sticks. They were so used to the torture that they didn't even scream anymore. Soldiers in purple and steel cackled as they poked the prisoners. He decided they would be first.
To his left, a soldier notice his approach and alerted the other guards. Soon, all eyes were on him as he let the rage rip through his veins. He flexed his fingers and light erupted from his palms. The soldiers balked, but they didn't stop. They rushed him. They should have run away.
Bones crunched under his hands. Swords bounced off his skin. Armor crumpled and suffocated the wearer. It wasn't pretty. Within a few minutes, blood soaked the ground, ashes thick in the air. He didn't mean to start the fire. It just sort of happened.
Eventually, they stopped trying to kill him and started running. He gave chase. He didn't stop until every sliver of that purple banner was burned to ash. He didn't want to ever see it again. Not in his home.
dededos
pixelskylines
germansingergirl
gummygunk
vaporwave
annaxmalina