Sunday, October 11, 2015

100 Words a Day 719

I’ll never forget the night the Stormriders attacked our camp. They were lightening in the dark: sudden and shocking. Their battle cries mixing with the roar of their machines were echoing thunder. A whirlwind of leather and steel was all I could see as they road through our encampment, slaying all and setting fire to anything within reach. I fled without looking back, chased at first by the screams of the dying, but eventually the rumbling roar of a single bike punctuated by the mad storm-howls of the rider. My legs were no match for the tempest she rode upon.

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