The Rains Of Circumstance

Each day was like rain falling all around, a downpour of time, falling down on unprotected heads. The world was there to be trudged through; the heavy mud of circumstance weighing down each foot. Struggling through the day became more and more of an ordeal the longer the rains of circumstance fell.

The sky was lost in clouds hanging unmoving in a grey sorrowful sky. Time did not pass. Night came before acknowledging dawn. The sky was dim, featureless, grey. The ground was black, sodden mud. The waters spread until rivers grew into lakes, meeting and merging.

It looked as though the world would never know another summer or forgotten spring. Some turned towards the gods: begging, pleading and petitioning. There were rumours of sacrifices out in the Wildlands, a return to the old gods and their blood rituals. There were even whispers of human sacrifice and young virgins disappearing from villages.

The fear grew out of the rain, out of the storms. Strangers died on the roads. Wounded travellers left to die where they’d crawled. Nowhere was safe and anyone not already known was a potential danger.

As time went on and the food stores ran out, more and more people took to the road, searching for safety and security. Bloody savage fights broke out between starving gangs of wanderers. These grew into skirmishes between the remnants of villages on the move. Then tribes formed where there were once communities.

The diseases grew and spread and still the rain came down.

Soon there were battles, where there had once been skirmishes as tribes became armies. Those armies set out to conqueror, because that was the only way to survive.

The world turned colder and the rains turned to snows. Those who still believed knew now that the gods had abandoned them and there was nothing left to live for. Those without hope carried on, because that was all they knew.

Then, one day, after the longest winter anyone had ever known, the sky cleared. A tentative pale sun appeared, bringing its light and feeble warmth to a land drowned deep under the rains of circumstance.

 

Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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