The Golden City shone in the distance like the sun lighting my way. The clouds attempted to close in on it but to no avail. Even in the night, it glowed and it was like day.
The radiant structures guided me like a northern star. I kept my eyes fixed on the marvel resting on the horizon. I felt its power within me. Sometimes I thought that perhaps it was a dream.
The legend foretold of a city of gold where miracles were common, and heavenly beings resided. There was also a prophecy of a chosen child who would rise up to lead them all.
My birth came two years after the ship landed and my ancestors built The Golden City to make their home on this planet.
I was born in the city, the first conceived of human and celestial beings. My existence began as a sign.
The ruling elite became corrupt with power over humans and began a campaign to eliminate what they saw as a threat. A caring elderly couple took me from the city to protect my life. They raised me as their own in a farming village.
My time has come. The Golden City calls.
– Written for Jane Dougherty Writes, Microfiction Challenge #10: Far far away. Painting prompt by Theodor Kittelsen. WC 200.
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