Genre: Mystical Period Drama (I guess)
“Is he here mother?” the petulant voice demanded.
“He is coming”. A sweet voice replied.
Their prisoner was dragged through the corridor.
“Mother!” the boy shouted in a raspy voice at the prisoner’s entry in the courtroom.
“Shh…” the queen held the trembling boy to her bosom.
“I, the king-to-be, shall bring justice”, the boy shrieked, gaining strength from his mother’s embrace. “Guards! Bring my crayons and this man’s photo. The scars on him should match my hand’s trail on his photo. Laugh at me now, you swine!”
The prisoner looked at the eighteen year old boy holding crayons, hiding behind his podgy mother.
“Lordling, I wouldn’t dare”, he said in a low voice.
My 114 words for this Friday.
I strayed quite a bit from the photo prompt and exceeded the word limit, but hey, I made it!
For the uninitiated, in case you are wondering what is going on here, read on. Friday Fictioneers is an excellent forum for people looking to have fun as they learn the nuances of writing. Every Friday a bunch of us write 100 words (no hard rules there) for prompts posted by Rochelle who runs the show.
Click here to get to the main post to catch up on the rules and also entries of very able writers!
This week’s prompt is given by Rochelle herself. Rochelle, apologies for misusing the prompt. The odds of my writing this week were very low and when I got some spare time to write, I didn’t have the prompt, but a memory of it. It was only after I was done with the story that I remembered there was a very “modern” telephone that would make my period drama fall flat. But falling flat is how we learn to walk. And my memory has made me a worse victim before.
A shorter way to get to other stories: