The coming.


“And so it came to pass. That all that was was altered.

He appeared from the heavens, shrouded in darkness so black that the sun retreated in fear. Darkness dripping fire onto the land, which did heave and roil. That it too be changed by his presence, and the blight came to be.

Burned and blasted that no foot there should tred, lest that soul be blighted for all generations to come. Thus the blight began, and all those touched by his power would do great and terrible things. The touched would wield power the likes of which none had before seen.

He who came spake not. His silence made more horrifying by the screams of them he visited. Them who once help power, or thought it power before him. Before being engulfed by the cold orange flames of his wrath.

No plea for forgiveness reached his ear. Eyes as black as a massa soul held no mercy. Then he was gone. Leaving the blight, the touched and those who would again seek power.”

He closed the beat up leather-bound book and stared out among this congregation. All of them were touched? How many of them would lose their way? How many of them would forget to stay hidden? How many of them would be put down? How many of them could he save?

A feeling of dread crept though his awareness. Something bad was coming, for all of them. He wondered if he had the strength to fend it off and keep these children safe. He wondered if the Father would ever return.

In response to photo-fiction #41


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