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Prompt for this post on r/writingprompts

He stood at the water’s edge, the gentle waves lapping calmly at his boots. The wind was strong here, never letting up for a second. This was a sacred place, though few came to it anymore. They had more important things to worry about. Chaos had claimed the world, spreading like a plague from nation to nation, continent to continent; nowhere was unaffected. Governments fell, societies collapsed, and all that had once been good in the world seemed on the edge of being lost. This had of course happened because there was nothing left to hold it all together. We had killed God.

It had come to us one day many years ago, with no warning. It simply landed on Earth in the morning and by that same night, we were part of a galactic war, a war between gods. It explained to us that we were no longer safe on our own, that the war had become so vicious and all-consuming that many of its people thought that the galaxy itself may not even survive. After what would be, to us, an eternity of fighting, each side for their very survival and continued existence, deep desperation had taken root. There was no longer a sense of winning the war, but of ending it at any cost.

Very few of its people still maintained hope for a galaxy after the war, and had dedicated their lives to protecting what parts of it they could from the havoc that was consuming all of existence around them. It had come to Earth because we were in a danger that we had no way of knowing and it would stand guard to protect us, simply because we were one of the precious few pockets of life that the war had not yet corrupted or obliterated.

He looked down at the heavy metallic rod in his hands with its faint blue glow, then back up over the water. God’s dead face stared back at him blankly, far off in the distance. It had come to keep us safe, and this is how we repaid it. We let our fears get the better of us, turning first on God, then on each other. We’d spent our entire existence thinking of nothing outside our tiny world, until one day a massive metal being appeared from the sky to tell us that not only were we not alone, but that there was a horror out there of a magnitude we could barely even comprehend. Reason had been the first victim of that day, before we started firing missiles and bombs at God.

It had been a very one sided fight; God refused to retaliate. It simply allowed itself to be destroyed, because it would not be party to the kind of ruin that it sought to protect against. From the second it collapsed into the ocean, the plague of chaos began to infect us all. Unable to see the danger of the war we now knew was out there, we were like animals cornered in the dark, lashing out at each other and only hurting ourselves even more.

He slid the rod into his pack and slung it into the boat. He pushed it off into the water and hopped in. Things were dark, but hope was not dead. He started rowing. There was a chance they could come back from the brink of the abyss.

He knew how to bring God back to life.


A weird problem gets progressively weirder.
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