The Prophecy

I entered this short story into a competition which had a word count of 250 and the theme, The Darkness Came.


Mauve clouds bruised bi-polar skies, now grumbling miserably having been bright and sunny an hour earlier. Bird song hushed as rain began to dimple puddles.

It wouldn’t be long now.

The captain shivered, fear unravelling in his veins like a skein of wool. Would the prophecy come true? He was prepared. He couldn’t take the chance.

“Hurry up,” he called to his sons. “Have you checked that the food supply is secured?”

“Twice,” his eldest replied.

“Good. Help me get everyone on board. We’re running out of time.”

Father and sons hurried the couples along, their feet click-clacking upon the deck.

The captain looked skyward, his eyes widening in horror. A dark curtain of rain raced closer, muting colours and beating a faster rhythm. Thunderous skies unleashed a deluge, staining stones a shade darker and painting a glistening patina on the wooden hull. Bubbling bulimic brooks spewed debris into the rising waters, as a white-forked tongue licked the sky. The clouds grumbled in reply as the water began to take the weight of the giant hull, causing the boat to rock gently to and fro.

“Close the doors,” yelled the captain, his brow furrowed with anxiety. “Fasten the windows and secure all on board.”

The darkness came, dampening colour and form. The captain peered through the gloom at his cargo, as sounds echoed around the vast interior. Startled eyes stared back as hooves stamped, nostrils flared, wings flapped and paws scratched. The ark broke free.

“It begins,” cried Noah.

By Angela Barton