The legend was well known throughout the town. Everybody who lived there knew not only the shape in which their doom would arrive, but the very hour in which it would come.
Some thought it strange that so many would stay in the face of such inevitability, and indeed as the hour approached some citizens sent their children and loved ones away to stay with distant relatives in the next town over, that they might not have to witness what was to come.
Still, those that remained were not helpless. Having known of their fate for so long, they had no intention of standing still that the instrument of their doom might simply trample them; they had no plan to go quietly into the night.
Watchers stood vigilant as the day faded into dusk, and at the first sign horns blew, fires were lit and every man, woman and child ran to their positions.
They had practiced night after night until their actions were second nature; a well-oiled machine, an entire community that worked together as one body.
Cannon fired. Guns blazed. Men, women and children joined together to fight their doom.
And their destiny was rewritten.
© Kari Fay
(Author’s Note: The Three Word Wednesday prompts this week are Helpless, Trample and Vigilant.)