| Horror and Thriller Fiction posted July 15, 2023 |
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When the end is near, get happy!
The Herald of Arlen
by Loretta Bigg
The shifting sands covered the progress he had made, but it didn't matter anymore. Rashak had found the rare disk wrapped in the all-important "liner notes." And this one from the Herald of Arlen, a powerful prophet who'd only failed them once: There was nothing to be found over the rainbow, because rain had ceased to exist.
Other sects had faded and failed; the Victor of Fleming with its "great day," had fizzled. The Eye of Berlin clan promised a white Christmas, and brought trampled death when Christmas came and went.
But the Herald of Arlen sect only needed a new leader to get back on its feet.
"This time it will be me who saves them," Rashak thought. He climbed to the top of the highest rock, holding his powerful disk high. "I won't settle for fewer than ten followers," he said to himself. "After all, I can read." He felt tears streaking the sand on his skin remembering the mother who'd taught him everything.
"Gather 'round you sinners," he bellowed to the empty sands. "Behold what I have found."
"He has a new disk!" Five people poked their heads out of their holes.
"Wisdom from Black Swan Cords. Risen from the dead, words to prophesize."
A few more bedraggled crawled out, filthy, every one of them. The Herald of Arlen tempted them with his past prediction of "Stormy Weather," his warning of an "Ill Wind." Thirty survivors now huddled at Rashak's feet. He saw more coming, but he couldn't wait. The whirl of sand and fierce sun was growing too strong.
"The greatest of the word, the greatest of the word," the people chanted, till he shushed them gently.
"This is the Word of God, from the Herald of Arlen," he said. "He promises a way out. Find a river and cross it. A land sits on the other side of this river, our new home."
The crowd began to moan along with the sound of the wind and the sands. But Rashak knew he had to hurry, finish before the heat killed him. The disk in his hand, unplayable, had already begun to melt. "Kamon is the name of the new land," he said.
Camon or Kamon, but such subtleties didn't matter. Few of the other survivors knew how to read.
"It's all so simple." He paused for effect. "You will each receive a Lujah."
That part had been impossible to decipher. "I know what a lujah is!" he lied, before they began to doubt. "My mother taught me. A stone we will find beyond the river. The secret of hope! These stones can cool the sun!"
The small crowd moaned, "Lujah, lujah, lujah." The sand was starting to tear at their faces. He held up the ebony disk. "The Herald of Arlen asks only one thing." He drew a huge breath, and let it out. "Get happy!"
He had them. Everyone began to laugh, and the sound boomed against the relentless sand dunes.
That night, they gathered around Rashak in the hidden cave, his people who already loved him, at least for that night. The fireflies lit the walls of the cave, with its drawings of the remembered... trees, flowers, houses, children. A woman rubbed his feet, this great man who had promised them a river and a lujah.
He murmured to the woman. "Shout, Herald, a lujah. Kamon, get happy." Those around him sighed and repeated. "Shout Herald, a lujah. Kamon, get happy."
"It is all so peaceful on the other side." This leader would lead them to safety. They were headin' 'cross the river, tomorrow or the next day or the next, where they would reach that Promised Land, the Past of cool summers and beautiful music.
That night the sun burned down what was left of the Earth. And no one lived long enough to realize that the Herald of Arlen couldn't help them after all.
Sunday, Monday, Doomsday... writing prompt entry
The shifting sands covered the progress he had made, but it didn't matter anymore. Rashak had found the rare disk wrapped in the all-important "liner notes." And this one from the Herald of Arlen, a powerful prophet who'd only failed them once: There was nothing to be found over the rainbow, because rain had ceased to exist.
Other sects had faded and failed; the Victor of Fleming with its "great day," had fizzled. The Eye of Berlin clan promised a white Christmas, and brought trampled death when Christmas came and went.
But the Herald of Arlen sect only needed a new leader to get back on its feet.
"This time it will be me who saves them," Rashak thought. He climbed to the top of the highest rock, holding his powerful disk high. "I won't settle for fewer than ten followers," he said to himself. "After all, I can read." He felt tears streaking the sand on his skin remembering the mother who'd taught him everything.
"Gather 'round you sinners," he bellowed to the empty sands. "Behold what I have found."
"He has a new disk!" Five people poked their heads out of their holes.
"Wisdom from Black Swan Cords. Risen from the dead, words to prophesize."
A few more bedraggled crawled out, filthy, every one of them. The Herald of Arlen tempted them with his past prediction of "Stormy Weather," his warning of an "Ill Wind." Thirty survivors now huddled at Rashak's feet. He saw more coming, but he couldn't wait. The whirl of sand and fierce sun was growing too strong.
"The greatest of the word, the greatest of the word," the people chanted, till he shushed them gently.
"This is the Word of God, from the Herald of Arlen," he said. "He promises a way out. Find a river and cross it. A land sits on the other side of this river, our new home."
The crowd began to moan along with the sound of the wind and the sands. But Rashak knew he had to hurry, finish before the heat killed him. The disk in his hand, unplayable, had already begun to melt. "Kamon is the name of the new land," he said.
Camon or Kamon, but such subtleties didn't matter. Few of the other survivors knew how to read.
"It's all so simple." He paused for effect. "You will each receive a Lujah."
That part had been impossible to decipher. "I know what a lujah is!" he lied, before they began to doubt. "My mother taught me. A stone we will find beyond the river. The secret of hope! These stones can cool the sun!"
The small crowd moaned, "Lujah, lujah, lujah." The sand was starting to tear at their faces. He held up the ebony disk. "The Herald of Arlen asks only one thing." He drew a huge breath, and let it out. "Get happy!"
He had them. Everyone began to laugh, and the sound boomed against the relentless sand dunes.
That night, they gathered around Rashak in the hidden cave, his people who already loved him, at least for that night. The fireflies lit the walls of the cave, with its drawings of the remembered... trees, flowers, houses, children. A woman rubbed his feet, this great man who had promised them a river and a lujah.
He murmured to the woman. "Shout, Herald, a lujah. Kamon, get happy." Those around him sighed and repeated. "Shout Herald, a lujah. Kamon, get happy."
"It is all so peaceful on the other side." This leader would lead them to safety. They were headin' 'cross the river, tomorrow or the next day or the next, where they would reach that Promised Land, the Past of cool summers and beautiful music.
That night the sun burned down what was left of the Earth. And no one lived long enough to realize that the Herald of Arlen couldn't help them after all.
Other sects had faded and failed; the Victor of Fleming with its "great day," had fizzled. The Eye of Berlin clan promised a white Christmas, and brought trampled death when Christmas came and went.
But the Herald of Arlen sect only needed a new leader to get back on its feet.
"This time it will be me who saves them," Rashak thought. He climbed to the top of the highest rock, holding his powerful disk high. "I won't settle for fewer than ten followers," he said to himself. "After all, I can read." He felt tears streaking the sand on his skin remembering the mother who'd taught him everything.
"Gather 'round you sinners," he bellowed to the empty sands. "Behold what I have found."
"He has a new disk!" Five people poked their heads out of their holes.
"Wisdom from Black Swan Cords. Risen from the dead, words to prophesize."
A few more bedraggled crawled out, filthy, every one of them. The Herald of Arlen tempted them with his past prediction of "Stormy Weather," his warning of an "Ill Wind." Thirty survivors now huddled at Rashak's feet. He saw more coming, but he couldn't wait. The whirl of sand and fierce sun was growing too strong.
"The greatest of the word, the greatest of the word," the people chanted, till he shushed them gently.
"This is the Word of God, from the Herald of Arlen," he said. "He promises a way out. Find a river and cross it. A land sits on the other side of this river, our new home."
The crowd began to moan along with the sound of the wind and the sands. But Rashak knew he had to hurry, finish before the heat killed him. The disk in his hand, unplayable, had already begun to melt. "Kamon is the name of the new land," he said.
Camon or Kamon, but such subtleties didn't matter. Few of the other survivors knew how to read.
"It's all so simple." He paused for effect. "You will each receive a Lujah."
That part had been impossible to decipher. "I know what a lujah is!" he lied, before they began to doubt. "My mother taught me. A stone we will find beyond the river. The secret of hope! These stones can cool the sun!"
The small crowd moaned, "Lujah, lujah, lujah." The sand was starting to tear at their faces. He held up the ebony disk. "The Herald of Arlen asks only one thing." He drew a huge breath, and let it out. "Get happy!"
He had them. Everyone began to laugh, and the sound boomed against the relentless sand dunes.
That night, they gathered around Rashak in the hidden cave, his people who already loved him, at least for that night. The fireflies lit the walls of the cave, with its drawings of the remembered... trees, flowers, houses, children. A woman rubbed his feet, this great man who had promised them a river and a lujah.
He murmured to the woman. "Shout, Herald, a lujah. Kamon, get happy." Those around him sighed and repeated. "Shout Herald, a lujah. Kamon, get happy."
"It is all so peaceful on the other side." This leader would lead them to safety. They were headin' 'cross the river, tomorrow or the next day or the next, where they would reach that Promised Land, the Past of cool summers and beautiful music.
That night the sun burned down what was left of the Earth. And no one lived long enough to realize that the Herald of Arlen couldn't help them after all.
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Writing Prompt Write a flash fiction story up to 700 words that involves a doomsday scenario. Anything goes, but the end of the world, or its perception, must be a driving force in your story. |
Spoiler Alert:
Victor Fleming was a famous songwriter of the thirties and forties and wrote the song "Great Day."
Irving Berlin was a famous songwriter of the twenties and thirties and wrote "White Christmas."
Harold Arlen was a famous song writer from the 30s and 40s. He wrote many songs about the weather, like "Over the Rainbow," "Stormy Weather," and "Ill Wind. He also wrote "Sing Hallelujah C'mon Get Happy."
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Victor Fleming was a famous songwriter of the thirties and forties and wrote the song "Great Day."
Irving Berlin was a famous songwriter of the twenties and thirties and wrote "White Christmas."
Harold Arlen was a famous song writer from the 30s and 40s. He wrote many songs about the weather, like "Over the Rainbow," "Stormy Weather," and "Ill Wind. He also wrote "Sing Hallelujah C'mon Get Happy."
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