The Mythical Sword of Fromage

It had been eleven months to the day since the storms first began. Most cities were but flattened piles of crumbling brick and rotting wood. People—those who survived—lived in small shanty tent collectives under highway overpasses. My sister Gwen and I had found an empty trailer

behind an abandoned grocery store, but we weren’t able to keep it for very long, as demand for such a shelter was high, and we didn’t have the weapons others did. It’s astounding how vile humans can be when you take away their modern conveniences. I had to protect Gwen, so we

...kept moving. It would keep us safe, i promised her I would get her to the tent collectives. It's the scariest thing in the world, to run but not know who is chasing you. Gwen was the key, she had to be safe at any cost, even if the cost is my life...

or so I kept reminding myself. Who knew if I would ever be able to actually do it? I kept hacking through the trees with my supposedly mythical sword, and both of us continuously craning our heads back to see if we were being chased. "Arth?" she whispered. Her lips trembled as we

realized there was not special at all about this mythical sword. In fact, it was dull and practically useless for the tasks ahead. There was only one thing a sword like this was good for. I wish we had some cheese.

Then cheese appeared! It was a towering, monster of a cheese. Judging by the color and firmness—something sharp. And it was angry. The Mythical Sword of Fromage glowed like newly forged steel. The cheese lept at me! My blade directed my hands. Gwen and the land were finally free.