The Purge
Word Count: 750
Summary: For those who dwell in heaven, all are perfect. All must be perfect. When they’re not, it’s time to fix things.
-Year 101-
It was a couple of days after the first centennial anniversary of Purgatorio and a rare shower, definitely not scheduled, occurred in the lush southern plains of New Petra. Hammurati was mending a torn skirt when she noticed the first splash of water hitting the windowsill and immediately abandoned the hapless project to watch serotonin-infused droplets evaporate as soon as they made contact with soil. Her mother called out, telling her to go outside and prepare the drums—just in case the light shower grew heavier. No sense in wasting free water, she said.
The girl obeyed and fetched the drums from the garden shed. She was putting the last empty barrel at the corner of their backyard when a sudden, loud, thunderous crack tore through the wide plains and for a moment the world turned as black as bruise. She didn’t remember if she’d screamed or if the noise had silenced her dumb, but rooted to the spot, Hammurati felt for the first time in her young life a paralyzing fear that took over her body. Then she saw him.
The djinn.
