For the cursed town in my novel, a small brazen group formed to help fend off the antagonist. Every night, they would put themselves in danger to protect the civilians.
For them, it was a hard transition, going from living a carefree life to an ingredient in a devil’s soup.
At any moment, The Walking Man could strike…
What will he do with their bones?
Will he use them to pick his teeth clean of their flesh?
This was the town’s reality, and, in some manner, this was their atonement.
The unspoken leader of the town offered up encouragement to not fear what lurks outside:
“We must not fear the unknown that lurks outside at night. We must respect it but not let it consume us. We must not let it define us. We must not let it decide our own mortality.”
The few townsfolk who refused to wallow in their own sad condemnation formed a group called “The Runners.”
Every night they’d recite the credo below before opening up their door to the unknown entity that lurked outside at night:
There was no choice for the townsfolk. They needed to take control of a situation that was uncontrollable.
It was becoming clear to them that madness was besetting the door of their sanity as their minds toiled to remain.
Strife and fear consume all, but taking action was necessary. They understood that fate could be cruel sometimes.
Fate, cruel fate, pushing one forward towards the inevitable like a crow pecking at our heels in the narrow hallways of our minds. We cannot turn back, only move forward.
When faced with demons or a devil, step on their tails. You may bend but will not break. The evils of the world have no dominion over a person of character, tried and true in their intentions. Let the one who rises against said evil feel the glory of their true freedom.
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