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Goddess of WAR (May Promptathon #15)



Prompt: Brave, Warrior, Cunning

Time 30 Minutes



Goddess of War


The women of the village were the most cunning. While the men were warriors, going off to battle, it was the wives, aunts and daughters who defended the homeland from invaders trying to slip in. And the auntie of the south was the bravest of them all.

She had kissed her nephew goodbye when he had gone to the front of the battle, shovel and gun in hand. The shovel to dig the graves and the gun to fill them. Now, she was alone in her hut on the outskirts.

The tinkling sound of a scouting regiment echoed across her property. Their supplies clinking against each other gently as they moved through the brush that rose above their heads, closing in on her home.

She had minutes to prepare. Methodically she dug through her deceased husband’s chest of belongings. Immediately, he eyes honed in on her targets. Pulling them out, she lovingly unwrapped them with a prayer in her heart.

He had died promising to never take another life. Here was hoping she would not break the oath made over these items.

The moment the booted feet of the regiment emerged from the foliage, a warning shot struck the dirt, sending up a small cloud of dust into the dry, arid air.

The men looked up to see a topless woman, so secure in her femininity and power, that they took a step back. The goddess of war reincarnate, with a machete at her side.

“Heed my warning,” she yelled, while cocking the rifle once more. “We are armed and have children to protect. What do you have? A war you have no personal stake in. Take your scouting party elsewhere, or face the militia of mothers who will have nothing to lose but sweat from digging your mass graves if you bring the conflict here.”

The sound of song floated in on the air. Many woman’s voices joined together, emanating from the communal hall farther in town. The battle hymn full of the promise of blood and protection. Their strains raised to the goddess of war.

“I say once more. Leave.” Her commanding voice cracked like thunder, her long hair shifting in the breeze as if alive. The aura of death a promise.

The men turned, and left the village. Never to return.


The End

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