The Priory

Fire rose in the dark. Flames flickered and faded in the night. As each new building caught, the fire grew in size, until it engulfed the entire structure, began to fade, caught a new building. A horrifying cycle. Hope dwindled in the townspeople’s eyes as they watched the fires rise. The Pastor had herded everyone out into the fields, far enough from the flames to be safe. The midnight wind blew the bran back and forth, and the shimmering way it danced in the moon and fire tickled the waists of its inhabitants, as if saying “Hello! We don’t often have visitors. Are you planning on staying long?” Another building caught, and with it came a fireball taller than the trees. The townspeople gave a grieving gasp. The smoke plume rose black against the night sky, visible through the torchlight of fire and the stars it obscured. With the Word of the Lord, the people’s Pastor tried to calm his flock.

“My friends, my family. This is horror, I am aware. Our homes and indeed our entire livelihoods are destroyed before our eyes. The rubble, however, will serve to act as a fertile bedrock from which we can build our new lives. Stronger and wiser from experience, through destruction can change truly come about! What we have seen as comfort has been complacency. As much as our society shelters us from the harsh world’s realities, at times it cannot truly protect us against Satan’s wrath! Yes, we are a pious people, and as that may be our mark for those sinners to come against us, it is also proof we will overcome! The Lord is with us always! Especially in turmoil, we know His hand will guide us, keeping us safe. Only through pain and danger can we truly learn to keep ourselves safe and give him rest to wield His granduer elsewhere. For is it not His Goal to give us His Love and Strength so we may not need it? Indeed, even growing our own to pass to those in greater need? My friends, my family, look to the hill! His Chapel stands tall against this bleak night! When we return home to rebuild, we shall thank him for His Strength, given from His humble home in our hearts and heads. Look to the Chapel! Be thankful he has not abandoned us!”

The townsfolk looked to the Chapel, as their Pastor told them to. For a brief moment, it seemed there would be a world beyond the fires of this destruction. Then, the fire jumped again. The Holy Cross atop His home stood fast against the flames. The churchtop steeple which had allowed these petty, pious people to reach their god collapsed with a broken crunch.

The wind blew through the trees, leaves and fire swirling, locked together in a sick, mocking dance. The bran brushed the weeping folk as if to comfort them.

“At least we have each other.”

The wind rose, and heavy cloaks flapped roughly. The fearful people held each other, gripping tighter than ever before. Head down, the Pastor led a prayer, fear of his righteous incapacity tearing his holy facade. The wind around them raged, and the bran held strong through its mighty roots. The fires danced and sang, sparks rising from towering flames, carried on invisble currents blown by Satan himself.

The wind changed suddenly.

In the sparks had floated the frightened folk’s fears, and the Pastor’s head raised to the wind to bear witness to his word’s finality.

Flames flickered and faded into the night. Echoes of screams subsided from the sight. Those whom had survived soon succumbed to infection and dismay. Even the Pastor was now with his God.

Shining shyly over the horizon, the sun illuminated a charred cluster of corpses, above which rose a strong man, protecting his flock from his own fallacy. The man lay atop his burnt bodies, arms stretched to his sides, face towards Heaven; more Holy now than ever before.

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666 words