Flash Fiction, Shorts

The Colossus

The land flew past him and rain poured from the cool night sky. The only thing he heard was the wind in his ears and the squelching of hooves through the muddy hills. They had ridden many miles, and with only a few more to go, the man allowed his mind to wander.

Nothing would be the same anymore, that much was true. He could not keep lying to himself. With no warning the world had changed, his only hope was to change with it. He wondered if he would die today. It wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen. He shook his head. That kind of thinking wouldn’t do. If he failed here there was no one left. He could not die. The ran slowed to a drizzle and he slowed to a trot. They were close now. The man grabbed a strip of dried meat from a pouch strapped to his side and chewed. He would not die today. He gripped the handle of the short sword he wore, and fingered the hilt. Not today.

The land shook, a muffled thundering. It was almost dawn now, and the rain had stopped, but there was a heavy mist on the ground. The man rolled a shoulder and popped his stiff neck. Another, this time louder. . Closer. He reached behind his back for his bow and strung it. There was something there, a shape in the mist. The man pulled on the reins and came to a stop.

The Colossus stepped from the mist. The massive golem was a mountain of stone and fury. It carried a stone club that it hefted menacingly. Its eyes glowed with a white light that revealed no emotion or thought.

There was no going back now. The man pulled out his sword and drove his heels into his steed. The horse galloped forward. He would not die.

Not today.


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