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Weekly Contest #319
They had always called him a monster. Long before humankind learned to scratch words into stone or whisper them into books, his wings darkened the skies above their villages. He was not born into hatred, yet hatred followed him like a shadow. Children grew up hearing stories of his fire scorching fields, of his claws tearing apart brave men who dared to stand against him. But none spoke of why he came—the real reason as to why he was there. None spoke of the truth. He was the last of his kind. The others lay scattered as bones beneath the mo...
The church glowed with warmth that Christmas Eve, though I felt none of it. Candles burned in every window, their flames swaying gently, casting golden halos against the stone walls. Garlands of pine and red ribbon wrapped around wooden beams, filling the air with a fragrance that should have stirred comfort. Families shuffled into pews, their whispers and laughter like a soft tide, rising and falling, mingling with the steady hum of the organ. Children clutched programs for the nativity play, their parents straightening crooked halos and sh...
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