Modern Prometheus

Based on the theme 'Modern Prometheus", a man who fights for the good of people and falls hard because of it.


1. Modern Prometheus


They lived in a world ruled by tyrants and warlords, who only cared for money and fun. They had long given up the search for any hope; any hint of rebellion and death would be imminent.  So they lived every day hoping to see the next. Heroes? There are no such things, only people who attempt to fight against the overlords and are killed.


He did not want to live in such a world, but he had no choice, the lords of the world had his mother and father. Who knew what fate had befallen his sister, only that he had to live by their rules, otherwise, well, he would lose everything dear to him.


Everyday he would wake up to the pungent smell of excrement; filling his nostrils and making him want to gag. Even after all these years in prison he still hadn’t gotten used to the smell. As he tried to get rid of the stiffness in his limbs, his chains rattled against his wrist, awakening old sores and beginning new ones. Who new what was going to befall him today? Torture by drowning, asphyxiation or would they be more creative today? Maybe they would try something new? He doubted it and he sincerely hoped that they wouldn’t. He survived on his routine.


First he would be brought his meal, a meagre amount of porridge and a glass of water with little particles floating in it. He would eat and drink as much as he dared for he knew that most likely it would not be staying in for long. Hence his weak body which mainly survived on his dinner. Since he would actually be allowed time to digest it. Even his torturers needed sleep. After he finished his meal, they would lead his out of his cell, or rather; they would drag him by his chains because he would be too weak to stand.  After leading him to the main room, his jailers would leave and then the torturers would arrive.


But as he was tortured he remembered the flashes of freedom. Fighting his way through the troops, killing as he went, blood and gore was everywhere; it coated every surface with a bright red liquid. At that time, he already knew that the revolution wouldn’t succeed but he still fought on. The people needed him, they needed the freedom he could bring. But then, he heard his name bellowed from the roof top, he looked up. And there they were, held only by their necks was his family, he stopped immediately. How had they found them? Had someone betrayed him? He would never know because at the moment he was hit on the head and the revolution officially ended. As he fell to the ground, he wondered if he was going to die, that would have been a mercy indeed.


Suddenly, he was jerked out of his reminiscent thoughts of they thrust of red hot brand on him, it added to the fine collection they had already given him. And then he would be brought back to his cell, to stay there, chained and hungry.


But today was different, as he sat in his cell, he overheard his guards.


‘I almost feel sorry for the man.’




‘Well, you know, they keep threatening him about his family, but they’ve already died.’


‘Hey, don’t say it so loudly, he’ll hear you.’


And he had heard. It changed everything. He was now going to fight. Fight for freedom, not only his but the peoples.


When they brought him his evening meal, they didn’t notice the glint in his eye. As they left him alone to eat, thinking as they always did that he wouldn’t dare rebel against them. He was picking the locks on his chain with his fork. At last, he was free. That was when the mayhem began, he punched and kicked and fought his way through his guards.


Alas, it was not to be, for as he left his jailers, his torturers, his captivity, who blocked his way? His sister, the famous warrior maiden, the daughter of the Warlord, she stood there with her sword, shouting


‘I will cut you down, scum of the earth.’


He thought it was rather ironic, he went through all that pain and what became of it? Death by his own sister, but he would not relent. As she thrust her sword into his heart, he said with his dying breath,


‘Thank you, my sister.’


The warrior maiden was confused, but then she remembered, all those years back, her father had gripped her neck with an iron grip and held her above the parapets, threatening to kill her. She would get her revenge.


And so the Warrior Maiden became the shining hope for the people, who were discouraged by the death of their hero but felt cheer in their hearts that an ally of the people may have appeared.

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