THE ONLY DEPENDABLE THING ABOUT THE FUTURE IS UNCERTAINTY
Word count: 873
“The only dependable thing about the future is its uncertainty.”
A Prompt for The Writing Desk.
The heavens are burning. The ground below is drowning in blood.
You close your eyes and try to shut the world around you out.
But its cries are too much to ignore, the chaos screams to you. You wonder how it got to this. You did everything right, didn’t you? You think back now on everything and try to recall all possibilities, all pathways and metaphoric forks in the road. Was there a step you had missed? Was there more you could have done? Will everything you have suffered for amount to nothing? But more important, a voice in the back of your head whispers, will this be your final hour?
Never! You answer. Never!
The ground shakes violently again and brings you out from the darkness. You open your eyes. The city burns. Black clouds hang like a deadly blanket over the sky. It has blocked out the stars and the moon.
But even this blackness cannot hide the carnage. The flames of destruction burn brightly, and doing so reveal your failure. Your failure to protect, to fulfil your oath. It is surrounding you at all sides. Bodies upon bodies, burned, dismembered, red pools seeping from the masses. You catch a glimpse of something falling from the sky. No not another one, you think, haven’t the bastards run out yet? As it disappears behind a tower of buildings you know your wishing falls on deaf ears. The ground shakes once more. The sky burns brighter.
No rest for the wicked.
“Help!”
And no rest for you.
You snap back to ground level, no longer entranced by the portrait of destruction. No, you are spurred into action, your feet finding their own strength. Reflex. That’s what it is to you. Action and reaction. You move so fast that everything almost feels like a blur. You can’t even fully make out what you are seeing. But you know enough. You see her hair, waving in the air. More importantly, you see her eyes, her horror. You see him, something glistening in his hand. Already you are so close but you know you won’t make it in time. You reach for the concealed dagger in your coat and throw it. For a split second it all goes slow motion, as you watch your blade cut through the darkness, past the girls head and straight into the middle of his forehead. He falls backwards into a pool of blood and you now stand over him, your left foot pressed against his neck.
The girl has fallen to her knees a few feet behind you, crying. As you reach for your dagger’s handle you hear her whimper. “T-thank you…” You pull the blade out and look towards the distance. Your destination now set.
“Stay out of the open.” Is the only advice you give before running off. Not that there is much advice you could give even if you wanted to. No place was safe. You either have to be quick on your toes, or lucky enough to dodge the dice.
You dash down familiar streets, improvising your path as the city around you crumbles inward. The further in you go, the hotter it becomes, the more foul the air is to breathe. Almost as if you are swallowing in death. It’s difficult to make out exactly what’s happening, you haven’t run into anyone from your side. More than ever you wish you still had that damnable handheld radio. Your sister’s last transmission had nearly cost you your life. “They’re aiming it at Cenhelm!”
In all your years you have never truly lost concentration during battle. But that one line…and Noah, the bastard seized the opening and nearly stabbed you. If not for those reflexes you’d be bleeding to death now.
Another blast rocks the ground, this one close. You don’t turn to look but you can feel the hellfire. The West District is nothing but a furnace now.
Up ahead you see the Palace Hotel. And you know that’s where your sister is. And you cannot falter now. She needs you. The city needs you. You won’t let those bastards win. Never! You won’t abandon anyone, anymore. No more, you yell at yourself, not the way you abandoned him.
His memory invades your mind, and for a moment you are reliving it all over again. His words. Your words. His unshaken resolve. Your loathing.
The vision shatters.
More of them attack you, and you’re secretly thankful of this. They charge, but to you they are moving in slow motion, and you unsheathe your dagger and go into your dance of death. It must be the adrenaline, or maybe the toxic smoke has gotten to your mind, but you feel lighter than air. And you continue your dance, and they continue to fall, and red is now all you can see. You are drenched in it.
You slice the last one’s throat open and leave him to gurgle in his own blood. Without a glance back you run up the doors and pull, nearly ripping them from their hinges.
A loud crash from above divides your attention, followed by a hard thud, the cracking of bones, and a shower of glass. You turn back to look and your sister’s words now echo in your mind.
“Change…change is certain. That's about the only thing you can count on for the future. Everything else is debatable.”
“The only dependable thing about the future is its uncertainty.”
A Prompt for The Writing Desk.
The heavens are burning. The ground below is drowning in blood.
You close your eyes and try to shut the world around you out.
But its cries are too much to ignore, the chaos screams to you. You wonder how it got to this. You did everything right, didn’t you? You think back now on everything and try to recall all possibilities, all pathways and metaphoric forks in the road. Was there a step you had missed? Was there more you could have done? Will everything you have suffered for amount to nothing? But more important, a voice in the back of your head whispers, will this be your final hour?
Never! You answer. Never!
The ground shakes violently again and brings you out from the darkness. You open your eyes. The city burns. Black clouds hang like a deadly blanket over the sky. It has blocked out the stars and the moon.
But even this blackness cannot hide the carnage. The flames of destruction burn brightly, and doing so reveal your failure. Your failure to protect, to fulfil your oath. It is surrounding you at all sides. Bodies upon bodies, burned, dismembered, red pools seeping from the masses. You catch a glimpse of something falling from the sky. No not another one, you think, haven’t the bastards run out yet? As it disappears behind a tower of buildings you know your wishing falls on deaf ears. The ground shakes once more. The sky burns brighter.
No rest for the wicked.
“Help!”
And no rest for you.
You snap back to ground level, no longer entranced by the portrait of destruction. No, you are spurred into action, your feet finding their own strength. Reflex. That’s what it is to you. Action and reaction. You move so fast that everything almost feels like a blur. You can’t even fully make out what you are seeing. But you know enough. You see her hair, waving in the air. More importantly, you see her eyes, her horror. You see him, something glistening in his hand. Already you are so close but you know you won’t make it in time. You reach for the concealed dagger in your coat and throw it. For a split second it all goes slow motion, as you watch your blade cut through the darkness, past the girls head and straight into the middle of his forehead. He falls backwards into a pool of blood and you now stand over him, your left foot pressed against his neck.
The girl has fallen to her knees a few feet behind you, crying. As you reach for your dagger’s handle you hear her whimper. “T-thank you…” You pull the blade out and look towards the distance. Your destination now set.
“Stay out of the open.” Is the only advice you give before running off. Not that there is much advice you could give even if you wanted to. No place was safe. You either have to be quick on your toes, or lucky enough to dodge the dice.
You dash down familiar streets, improvising your path as the city around you crumbles inward. The further in you go, the hotter it becomes, the more foul the air is to breathe. Almost as if you are swallowing in death. It’s difficult to make out exactly what’s happening, you haven’t run into anyone from your side. More than ever you wish you still had that damnable handheld radio. Your sister’s last transmission had nearly cost you your life. “They’re aiming it at Cenhelm!”
In all your years you have never truly lost concentration during battle. But that one line…and Noah, the bastard seized the opening and nearly stabbed you. If not for those reflexes you’d be bleeding to death now.
Another blast rocks the ground, this one close. You don’t turn to look but you can feel the hellfire. The West District is nothing but a furnace now.
Up ahead you see the Palace Hotel. And you know that’s where your sister is. And you cannot falter now. She needs you. The city needs you. You won’t let those bastards win. Never! You won’t abandon anyone, anymore. No more, you yell at yourself, not the way you abandoned him.
His memory invades your mind, and for a moment you are reliving it all over again. His words. Your words. His unshaken resolve. Your loathing.
The vision shatters.
More of them attack you, and you’re secretly thankful of this. They charge, but to you they are moving in slow motion, and you unsheathe your dagger and go into your dance of death. It must be the adrenaline, or maybe the toxic smoke has gotten to your mind, but you feel lighter than air. And you continue your dance, and they continue to fall, and red is now all you can see. You are drenched in it.
You slice the last one’s throat open and leave him to gurgle in his own blood. Without a glance back you run up the doors and pull, nearly ripping them from their hinges.
A loud crash from above divides your attention, followed by a hard thud, the cracking of bones, and a shower of glass. You turn back to look and your sister’s words now echo in your mind.
“Change…change is certain. That's about the only thing you can count on for the future. Everything else is debatable.”