tHe_PrOPHeCY

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A witch hunt in 1692 reveals a prophecy about the end of days...

Submitted: July 31, 2012

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Submitted: July 31, 2012

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“The Earth will fall under a black sun!” The old crone chanted as she was inched towards the vat of boiling water.

“As corpses lay on the battlefield!; The winds will blow across the blood-drenched la-aaarrrggghhh!!!”

An ear splitting shriek of pure agony erupted from the hag’s mouth, curly wisps of smoke protruding from its hairy nostrils and ears. I clamped my hands over my ears, but with little effect; I was, like everyone else, at the mercy of this witch’s horrific screech.

“Blood-creatures will rise up unto the new-Earth!; The last of the humans are soon to unearth!; That the dark sky will split on the 13th July!; Bringing ultimate peace in an ultimate high!”

Another scream erupted from the witch’s mouth, louder and more desperate than before. As the boiling water reached her chest, she consigned herself to her fate. She halted her scream and swivelled her head to face me. Those eyes- I winced and vomited on the ground beside me.

The water line had reached the witch’s neck. Her head twisted this way and that, attempting escape, but there was none. Her body convulsed in the water and the vat shook violently, threatening to tip over. She screeched her final screech, and then slumped in the water. And then everything was silent.

They were hauling the body out of the water, one bone at a time. The water had now cooled and I was shivering, covered in fluffy blankets that did nothing to fight the wave of pure terror building up inside of me. A single salty tear ran down my cheek. I brushed it away angrily, casting my gaze over at the vat of water. They pulled out her skull; or, more aptly, a half-skull, as half of the face was still attached, half-boiled and withering. I gave a low moan of terror, and then shook my head in a feeble attempt to push away the memory. I stood up and followed my superior to his tent.

George Sandom was standing with his back to the entrance of the tent. He turned to face me as I entered.

“Matthew, you’re here. How did you find the execution?”

A sudden vivid flashback shook my head; the wide eyes, the shrivelled skin; I shuddered as the memory sent a shiver down my spine.

“ Yes, I thought so,” Mr Sandom answered, watching my pained expression. “what did you make of the prophecy?”

I frowned at my superior.

“which prophecy would that be?”

 Sandom gave me a look.

“Ha, blimmin’ ha, Matthew. Which prophecy, witch’s prophecy. Hilarious. I’ll ask you again, and this time, there’s no need for the sense of humour- What was the prophecy you heard from the witch?”

 I bowed my head at my superior in apology, then straightened and replied,

“ Sorry sir, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant-“ I sighed when I realised I had no excuse-“The prophecy. I didn’t catch it all through the witch’s screaming, but I think I got it right. Something  about the Earth, and a black sun? Earth falls in a black sun, maybe?”

“Go on,” Mr. Sandom prompted, picking up a piece of chalk to write on the blackboard with.

“Then it went, As corpses lay on the battlefield.”

I waited until he had finished writing that line, then continued:

“It said, A wind will blow across the blood-drenched-”

George wrote this down, then gestured for me to continue.

“ I didn’t get the next word, because that was when she touched the boiling water, but I think she said land? And she missed out the fourth line, notice how this stanza had three lines, and yet the second stanza had four.”

My superior nodded at this and drew a row of question marks after the first three lines.

“ Okay, second stanza,” he said, ruling off the previous stanza so that he could work underneath. He dropped to his knees and waited with his chalk poised on blackboard.

“” Something about blood creatures taking over the Earth,”

Mr. Sandom wrote this down.

“This line, I remember. It said, the last of the humans are soon to unearth.”

Another ‘continue’ gesture from my superior,

“ A dark sky breaks sometime in July, and something about an ultimate high.”

George Sandom stood and reread the prophecy.

“Shame,” he sighed, “To find out that we’re all gonna die,”

“ It might not happen?” I asked hopefully.

George looked at me.

 

He just looked at me.

 

 

 


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