Writing Prompts: Writing Prompts: 32

Benji and Abbi strolled down the streets again, but now it was in the light of morning. There were clouds in the sky that seemed to promise rain, but neither of them paid any attention to them. They were too focused on the crowd forming up ahead. They reached the borders of the throng and pushed forward. On a crate was standing a tall man, hands raised up high and dressed in richer and more vibrant garments than the others who gathered around him. He was shouting and crying that he was the chosen one, the one who would lead the city, purge its streets, and then carry on and defeat the evils of other locales. The mob of people was growling, some whispering to the others and some jeering at him. As the man continued to declare his status as 'the chosen one' of the city, the mob grew larger and angrier, until a few men jumped forward and grabbed at him. The crowd gave a loud cheer, and the brawl was on. The surrounding citizens stepped back to make room for the fight. No need, however, because the fight was over almost before it had started. Soon the men were carrying the 'chosen one', jeering and mocking him. Quite a few people jested that the chosen one would have to learn to fight for himself first before fighting for the city.

Benji and Abbi moved away shortly after. They were silent for a bit until Benji commented, "Personally I'm glad I'm not the chosen one. I can hardly make myself a decent breakfast. I don't want that kind of responsibility. Leading a whole town seems like a bore, if you ask me."

Abbi giggled a bit. The way he said it made her think it rather funny, even though he seemed dead serious. She shook her head. "I'd like to be the chosen one for a grand prophesy, but not the chosen one of a town lynch mob."