Once I start writing, I see it is hard for me to stop, so I’d like to share my entry for this week’s Five Sentence Fiction, prompt courtesy of Lillie McFerrin.
Here was the picture for my inspiration.
And here is the song that inspired it. Feel free to listen as you read.
The word this week was BLADES.
Through the forest she wandered, wet-clumped snow flying in her face and clinging to her eyelashes. Whenever she tried to rest her head, the blades of her antlers dug cruelly into the back of her head and cut her shoulders.
She’d only laughed at the hunched old woman: “Grandmother, you ought pluck that hair growing from your face.” She hadn’t meant any harm, but now everyone she approached fled.
She sagged against a tree, heedless of her blood that trickled down the trunk like a single tear.
We left the town in flames but the captain died of his wounds less than half an hour after we put out from the burning harbor.
Shrike, an savage old hand with one eye and six teeth who drooled when he spoke, and his cadre of backers confronted me in the dim corridor outside the captain’s quarters to challenge my ascension to the captaincy.
“Fenwick, you son-of-a-whore,” slurred Shrike as he pulled his cutlass out of his belt and followed me up to the main deck, “one of us’ll be dead and the other captain ‘fore this day’s through.”
My first order as captain of the Pogue Mahone was to have Shrike’s most ardent backers throw his corpse and then themselves overboard.