Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge

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by Smitty

Granpda had a vision of his last look at the city. The hugest moon he’d ever seen, obscured by unnatural clouds. Bombers. A distant enemy had visited. A murder of ravens deployed from a lonely tree for the sudden necropolis.
That had been decades ago. The country hadn’t recovered from electing foolish leaders that brought ruin.

Grandpa dimly recalled references to a time when the people weren’t cowering in fear and scavenging like the ravens.

* * *

Time passed. People ceased to blame others. Instead, they looked within for strength. The ravens awaited the cycle.

via Darleen

20 comments

  1. It wasn’t until he heard the caw of the crows as they left that boy turned around to look again. They said that he would never be free again, that he was there until he couldn’t work or if the den mother took a liking to his body. It was still night and the people in their strange uniforms with their strange accents said something about the lift ticket would be here in a second, that this was the most vile forced labor and re-education camp established since
    Downfall. His ten year old mind then shifted to his parents.

  5. I’ve written ‘Darwin’s World’ which made fun of a sacred cow, and ‘Death of a Blogger’, which was the first not quite murder mystery about bloggers.

  6. His feet were sore in the trek broken sneakers, and the wide leather neck guard mixed anachronistically with the polyester shirt, and thin black tie, and the knickerbocker pants. Before him, the Ash City, already halfway unreal, and the Burning World. Above its curve, the Nebular Lord, named Odin, and to his left, the hideous face of She Who is Death.

    The ravens, Odin’s servants, cawed foul mockery at him as was their fowl kind’s like until with his Swiss Army knife he drew a symbol in the palm of his hand, and showed it to them. Then they fled, shieking.

    Weary beyond words, and so aching that the pain of his bloody hand barely registered, he turned back to the end of one branch of Yggdrasil. It stood above him, like a small tree, but its roots went all the way down to the bottom of the Multiverse. Using spit and blood, he drew another sign on its bark, and forced a way into the interior passages.

    Now, he had to swim back two pasageways, two branchings, and then take the leftward branch, hopefully that would bring him to the current Burning World. For Odin and Hela were destroyng the Multiverse, and the fruit on the Tree, one verse, one world at a time. And he was not even sure he could reach them, let alone stop them, but he was all there was, the Last Worldwalker among his people, and if he did not save them, he did not know who would.

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