Member-only story
Breaking Luke’s House
Mythological renderings in flash
Trigger warning: scenes of violence/horror.
“A giant is coming!”
“No…a god…”
“Worse!” Luke ran into his house, door hanging open like a mouth to be fed, his fists clenching and unclenching. Heart racing, he stormed through the rooms. In his wild eyes, he recognized nothing, nothing around him. “I’ll show him, I’ll show him…I’ll teach him he’s no better than we are!”
Outside, life paled before the setting sun. There were shouts and screams throughout the village. No one was ever safe here, no one’s doors blocked evil from entering, from taking whatever it would. Strength was law. If you were weak, if you had nothing anyone wanted, you were dead. If you had something someone else wanted, you were dead.
Bleak. No altars ever burned for the divine. Only the final whispers of dying women and children and men who had tried to run for other places. Or tried to keep something, some cloth, some animal, some security for themselves.
Luke tore around the unfamiliar house. “Andrea!” Knocking over pottery, running into his staff, his mouth open like a wolf on a hunt, tongue askew, slavering as he is determined to best a…a…a god? “Andrea, where are you!”
