Creative Writing

H after h

Hit with the hours of the day, I hurried to the quaint hut in which the vote was to take place. As I stepped over the threshold, hobbling from the hike I felt like I had just completed, I harmlessly swept my eyes across the room. The atmosphere felt cold, stale, and with a slight hint of unsteadiness – a feeling I couldn’t help but shiver at.

The choice I was about to make hurled itself upon me, holding me down and hunting for any show of indecisiveness. I heard once that, historically, hundreds upon hundreds were affected by the vote made by my ancestors. This hurt to think about.

I immediately brushed myself down and made my way to the booth, feeling proud and humbled as I walked past the hazy hooded figures. I knew what I had to do. A haunting voice began heckling demands at me, as incessant as a laughing hyena.

“Blue, Blue, Blue, Blue, HIT THE BLUE!”

“The horizon will always be Blue.”

Don’t hold back. Stay hopeful.

I slammed on the hated red button and, with a humungous howl, everything changed. I hurtled behind the booth as the hisses and the horns multiplied, rising hastily within the small room. Herds of the same hooded figures began to fall, evaporating as they hit the hard ground. I turned my head just in time to spy the last figure, harshly clawing at the walls as he fell. From his crumpled cloak that lay in a heap on the floor, a colossal blue snake slithered away out of the hood, and towards me.


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September 2021
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