The prophet travels through the mountains
Reading the desolate landscape for signs
She misses her family dearly
She had to leave them all behind
The prophet had to go on a great journey
And warn the people of coming dangers
Recently she’s begun to worry
Of her society’s rapid changes
The people have lapsed into sin
And we all know what happens next
The great flood will soon begin
And wipe everyone off the map
Here’s a piece of fantasy flash fiction about a young boy, a shaman, and destiny. It’s about 740 words and has an estimated reading time of 3 minutes. Let me know what you think!
Washing in the river. Washing myself clean. Clean of the dirt and grime of a society gone mad. This is the way of my ancestors, to wash in the river away from the frenzies of the city. The water is cool, and my blood runs ice-cold when I step inside. I feel the purity of the saints.
River cleanses me
Of evil impurities
The prophets cry in desolate fields.
The end is closer than we think,
the wild-eyed prophet says.
He, who has spent time in psych wards,
sees visions of hellfire at corner stores.
What are these images of demons and flashes of inspiration?