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On the Eve of the End

In the way it always does.

By belulielPublished 12 months ago Updated 12 months ago 1 min read
1
On the Eve of the End
Photo by Jonathan Kemper on Unsplash

We descend into nothing.

Chain to chain, shoulder to shoulder, four-by-four, we're corralled down limestone steps at the palace courtyard's southern end towards its center. A bard hums. A babe cries out, mine throat tightens. Here, I’ve lived through many births–

Whiff.

Schlink.

And fewer executions.

A skull tumbles onto marbled stone and ends between mine feet. Our sentry. Brown eyes, teary. Accusatory. Though that can’t be right, since our last ale was to erase all facial personhood. Yet, there’s no mistaking the pained cast of Thomas, brother of mine,

only nine Summers.

Short StoryMicrofictionFantasy
1

About the Creator

beluliel

Lost to some.

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  • Lamar Wiggins12 months ago

    That was awesome!!! 💖

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