Short Story

The City of Hope
Sweat dripped off his grimy arms as he clenched his fists together. Time and time again, he had fought. Fight for what was right against Oppression. Hero heard countless voices echo inside his head. “There is no fighting the Oppression. You have to step in line. He sighed, unclenching his fist. The chain on the small locket fell free, swinging in the breeze. Hero leaned his head against the ruined building. How could he go on? How could he press forward? Was there a point in fighting? He rubbed his hand along the edge of the locket. A small heart full of intricate lines. Hope.. the infamous city of Hope. He almost laughed at the name. It had been decades of fighting a losing war. He was tired, so, so, tired. His aching body protested every move. He couldn’t give up, not so long as he had the locket. It was the key to the fabled city of Hope. The last remaining citadel stood against The Oppression. “You really think it’s out there?” A figure said, walking up. “Hey, Jord.” Hero said. “Its gotta be.” He said tiredly, his voice cracking. “So many have given up, turning themselves over to become started.”
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By Deon Hudson5 years ago in Fiction
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