#172 — Pyrrhic Victory

The human brain can perform the equivalent of a billion-billion mental operations per second, wielding 20 watts of power.

Back in the day, when our town's census had swelled to over 40,000 souls, our theocracy had thrived.

It was the time we had built the amphitheater, a massive concavity in the ground large enough to accommodate all of our tens of thousands. It was set to be used at the summer solstice, during which time our townspeople would pray, en masse, to vanquish our enemies to the northwest.

But our population couldn't fill it, so it sat unused. There'd just be no point.

The slope of the parabolic seating was just so, to focus our energies--again, just so. On June 20 of this year, we had finally reached our critical mass of 40,000; we could use the parabola.

It was a good day for vanquishing. We were ready. Our enemies lay 830 miles northwest, in their cursed land of Nodowain. They numbered 100,000, so we knew what we were launching at them had better work, or we'd be waiting for onslaughts from their revenging hordes. They had better weapons. Sharper weapons. More lethal weapons.

After all, who did we think we were?

Ah, but that was it, wasn't it? Indeed! We were the Sodains, and we were a thinking people.

We filled our amphitheater. Our leaders rallied us without even raising their voices, given the perfect acoustics.

"To the northwest, Nodowain waits," said the Prefect. "They ready their caravans of destruction. They sharpen their impaling instruments. They keep their projectiles afire. They are overconfident. For we know who we think we are!"

The cheer went up from our 2,000-score collective: 800,000 watts of thermogenic summation, so generated by mere thought, perfectly focused to the northwest.

The countdown began.

At T-zero, we all thought as vehemently as we could: "Death to Nodowain!"

Our mentation focused parabolically, and our sortie of ill-thought launched. In just a moment, smug Nodowain lay in ruins, a cinder, smoldering.

And so it came to be that both Nodowaines and Sodainese perished that day; the Nodowainese from the exothermic force from Sodain, and the Sodainese from having no more watts for their minds.

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This is a truncated version of my submission to the Summer Solstice Challenge, reduced to 366 words to qualify for the Story-a-Day Challenge, by L.C. Schäfer.

For Thursday, June 20, the longest day of the year, Day 172 of the Story-a-Day Challenge

366 WORDS (without A/N)

Title-accompaniment photo was AI-generated but the daylight is not.

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There are currently three surviving Vocal writers still participating in the 2024 Story-a-Day Challenge:

• L.C. Schäfer, challenge originator

• Rachel Deeming

• Gerard DiLeo (some other guy)

Read them. Support them. Pray for them. And watch as they accrue vitamin D in spades on this looooong day in particular.