Writing Prompt
Prompt: “Tell me about the red sun.”
Rules: No editing! One- shot, less than 250 words. Tag it with #wordnerdprompt. Go!
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They say the red sun marks death, signals blood shed beneath the light of his brother’s and sisters in the passing darkness. It could be so—I am not a seer, nor a wise woman, nor a prophetess to speak about such signs and omens. I was there in the great fires of the North Fields, when the walls of flame burnt crops and trees and flesh alike. I was there when the great clouds of ash went up, smothering all light and hope. It’s ash that makes the sun red, that makes the earth glow deep orange, like rust poisoning the integrity of the air, making it dull and lifeless. It’s ash that keeps the earth still burning long after the flames have gone out. It’s ash that coats our lungs in its filth even a hundred miles from the wall of fire. They say the red sun marks death, signals blood shed. They never talk about the ash. But I was there when the walls of flame exploded in the north. I was there when ash covered the sky for miles. Ash is the retribution.