Lightning flashed like teeth biting into the stone walls. Athel's sandals slapped ungraciously as he ran. His mouth muttered undiscernable phrases. His eyes snatched fearful glimpses of the stormy shore between narrow windows.
Father Osgar was at prayer. He would know what to do.
Athel pushed the heavy door at the end of the hall just as thunder pounded threateningly behind him. Candles guttered upon the altar in their golden seats, encircling a small effigy of God with their weak light.
"And the seas breached their bounds, and dragons rose into the sky, so that all heard their roars and saw their flame. The clouds fell from heaven, and darkness rose up from the earth. All mankind cowered, awaiting death, and all were granted it." Athel spouted the words from memory. "Father, the signs are all there. Surely you have seen. The world is coming to an end!"
"My son," the old man said, still kneeling, "you are vigilant, but wrong. The world is not ending.
It is already over."
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (1 so far!)
But what does it mean? This feels like a beginning rather than an end to me.
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