Photo credit: Stanze
You pushed me out, spitting curses. My own neighbors, chasing me away, brandishing hay-forks and fists and worse.
Such a crime, to want to know.
The clerics tried their best to cleanse me, with tender hands, or coarse grit, or whips. Whatever it took. Still the visions lingered. Still they tempted me.
You try repelling me with prayers you think are spells, but I see through that now. I am wiser, stronger, harder. I can tell protection from hope, armor from shadows.
Your fences are useless against me. Even iron rusts.
Wake — sweating, panting, screaming. For tonight, I return.
Word count: 100. Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers challenge, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. See the other stories here, and the original photo prompt below. Posting this very late this week; I was thinking I couldn’t do it at all. I apologize ahead of time if I don’t get to read everyone’s stories this time around. I’ll do my best!
Photo © J. Hardy Carroll