Fruits of Insanity

at the end of all things

We never wanted to leave. We were content—happy even. And then they came and the mountains bled fire and our homes were overrun with dying.

There was nothing left. Even the vermin abandoned the burnt out, bloody remnants of our homes, vanishing into the empty lands which remained. But we could not.

Our town had been at the mountain’s foot. Now, it nestled between the army’s mass and the mountain’s fire, and the deep, deep, water. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. Our gods were angry, but we called on them at the end of our faith and she answered.

Her voice was as deep and as calm as the lake that gave us life—our mother. “Walk,” she said, and across the lake, we saw a path appear—green and growing. “Walk the lake to safety,” the goddess said, “And don’t forget me.”

I was not the first to follow the path. I was afraid. Then a child laughed and ran and her mother followed, and another, and another. I saw us leave, one after another, crossing the lake in safety, until I was all who was left and the path sank back from whence it came.

And I was still afraid, all alone in the remnants of home. But Mother Lake spoke again, “My child, you are the price for their safety. You will be with us, forever.”

The mountain roared again, and then I knew. I would be home forever. I would walk into the lake and warm my hands with Father Mountain’s fire, and I was content.

Prompt 9
the week of September 27

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