Last Breath (e03) - Prophet of Doom
“Can he really do it?” that was the question stirring the commotion.
The crowd kept searching for a sign, but only the raging sun remained visible in the bright sky.
“Can he make it rain?” people exchanged whispers.
Time passed, but nothing happened. The whispers became louder, chorused with hissings. An ugly looking man, wearing tattered cloth, was soaked in prayers before the crowd. Though he had claimed to be a prophet, but who will believe that anyway? If he were, God would have at least given him a nice piece of clothing.
The prophet suddenly sprang to his feet just as loud noises greeted the sky. He threw both arms upward and laughed repeatedly. Everyone was confused, so they looked up for answers.
It was right there, descending speedily in pool of flames; the true image of the red-hot rocky figure only became vivid as it drew closer. No one had the chance to move far enough when it struck.
Is it a meteor, a falling star, or a cannonball slung from hell?
It rained swift fiery waves on the entire crowd before crashing over them. Wailing, crying and screaming deafen the atmosphere while the wild fire raged on.
Only the tattered looking prophet could be seen standing; he was still chanting gloriously amidst horror. He was indeed a prophet – a prophet of doom. And the salvation he promised was death.
© Sir kb (2018)