Friday, December 10, 2010

Flash Fiction Friday: Week #17

Amy C over at Romance Book Wyrm and Dottie over at Tink's Place
have come up with the idea for a Monday Morning Flash Fiction challenge. Each Monday a new picture prompt wi
ll be posted and if you choose to participate - you post your story on Friday.

And here is the seventeenth picture prompt:
 

I have been trying for weeks to get my daughter to write a story for our flash fiction challenge- and this week she needed a break from studying for her college finals - so she agreed to write this weeks flash.

Here is her story: 

Mockingbirds
By Breana Greathouse


    Tomorrow would be her wedding day, she mused. Already, guests were piling themselves into her betrothed’s castle by the dozens, their laughter carrying out to the wharf where she stood, tickling her ear like mockingbirds. Ironic, the mocking. The steel within her palm was hard and cold against her skin, the jeweled tip heavily weighing in her dainty fingers. The rubies reflected in the breaking light through the clouds, casting faerie shadows on her gown. It would be such a pity to shred it.
    For months now, her handmaidens had fussed over her, scolding her posture, her hair, her speech, the way she limped sometimes across the wooden floor. Horseback riding, she had insisted; a bad fall out by the lake, a bruised face from the fall to boot. Speaking of boots, the outline of one still marred her skin, right above her thigh.
    The sign of aggravation for taking too long to unlace her Lord’s footwear.
    Too many signs, she thought. Too many chances for forgiveness. Too many weeks spent playing the role of obedient wife: eyes cast down, mouth shut, body open. She was not his property, not the cattle he kept in the hills, not the servant in the galley who served their meals each day. I am his wife, she thought, and I will be damned if he can tell me to speak louder, breathe softer. If I wish, I don’t have to breathe at all.
    The sword was heavy. Dragged in the dirt behind her from his artillery, it took all her effort to lift it few inches above the ground. Her eyes blurred from the wind, the salty spray bringing tears down her face, yet a smile played upon her lips. Finally, she could be free. She would be free.
    “Annalise  Annalise  What the devil are you doing?” Turning, her smile faded, the sword falling to her feet. Her body turned into itself, her insides clinching together from fear. How she prayed she would not have to fear this man again.
    “What are you doing, woman?” He asked again, slowly, softly. Never once did her Lord raise his voice to her. Only his fist.
    She remained quiet. She could not think, could not speak. Her plan was ruined, faltered. The horrors of impending marriage flashed across her eyes, and she flinched.
    “You dare not answer me?” A strike across her face. Hands gripped her wrist, and again, she felt blows. Gritting her teeth, she refused to cry. Not again. Not ever.
    “You will not disobey me. You are not allowed to leave your quarters, much less the grounds. And look here, my sword? Do you find yourself a man? Care to fight me?” Another strike, this time, to her ribs. She moaned with pain.
    “How I pity your father. He gave you away for only a cow as dowry; wanted to get rid of you that badly, I suppose. It makes sense, you do so favor one,”  
    Her eyes raised. Gone was the fear, now remained only conviction.
    “You will not speak to me that way.”
    “Excuse me?” shock rose in his face.
    “You will not speak to me that way, you great whoreish pig. I despise you. I loathe you. I hate you. You will never touch me again, never speak to me, never see me. I hope you enjoy damnation. May God have grace upon your soul, as I hope he has on mine.”
    The last sound he heard was the splash of the water, mixed with the tickling of guest’s laughter, like loud mockingbirds.


The End
Word Count:  593

I want to thank Breana for taking a moment to participate in this weeks flash fiction challenge.  :)  

What do you think of her story?



 

4 comments:

Blodeuedd said...

Yay for getting her to write too :)

And double yay for the courage it took the woman of this story. Oh that bastard had it coming

Michelle Greathouse said...

B,

Actually, she is the one who got me writing. LOL Breana is the author in the family - she mainly writes poetry now - but she has been known to write short stories in the past.

When I read her story I was thinking -okay, she's gonna find the strength to hold up that sword and run that man through. I couldn't believe it when she jumped off the cliff.

I just looked at Breana - like, what?

She said, Mama - you have to realize the women of that time didn't have the freedom they do now - and for her, the only chance of escape was death.

Okie dokie then. :)

M

Dottie (Tink's Place) said...

Hi Michelle and Breana!

Great story, I love it! Thanks Breana for taking the time to join in!! We all seemed to write as the prompt dedicated this week. How unusual...

It it would have been me, I would have run him through with the sword like you and B said. lol Knowing I would have met died an even crueler death, I would have then jumped, anything would have been better than staying with him. But, that's just me with my own sense of wicked judgement! lol

Way to go Breana!!

Dottie :)

Julia Rachel Barrett said...

Love. It. Good for your daughter! Hope finals go well.