| Letters and Diary Fiction posted October 11, 2023 |
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A Royal Command ...
Off With His Head
by Tom Horonzy
Looking from a dungeon window, I see the light brighten a morning to mourn as this is the day this fellow dies.
Lowly clouds linger like steam escaping a sewer, drifting up to a bell tower with walls that seemingly drip tears. Within an hour, its clappers will toll, commanding me forward to lose my head.
A crowd begins gathering in the king's court below, snickering and bellowing, anxious to watch the show ordered by the queen for an amourous affaire I shared with her daughter eight months ago.
I remember that night, and smile. It may be the last I provide before the executioner severs my head.
What must be shall be, yet, in four short weeks, her precious princess will bear a mini-me.
Listen. There are footfalls in the hall. Keys jingle softly. They open my door. There, wearing red, a Cardinal queries, "Isn't it time to pray?" I answer, "No. I had my piece; I lost no sleep doing what I had done with an august child."
That recollection unveils a second smile as I fondly recall how 'mi lady' smelt and felt. Go ahead. Toll those bells, my invitation to visit hell, but not until my last drop of blood hits the ground.
I enter the courtyard standing erect, then dance a jig before ascending the steps. The raucous crowd applauds and laughs.
Up on the scaffold, I greet the garroteur with a grin. He does not return my offering. An officiator then reads an edict issued by the queen. It speaks nothing good of me. The crowd boos.
Without further delay, I am laid parallel. A straw-strewn basket lies beneath my crown. Its purpose to mute the thump heard where my head comes to rest.
Body and soul separate. The latter rises wondering. Did the royals charge admission? And what of my heir? Will he receive renumeration?
I drift further away, but wait. Before me is a gate, yet I see no soul to greet me. I waft on by, wise to know I'm likely going to another place. Still, hope is eternal that 'her grace' I disgraced will arrive not too far behind me.
To restful sleep; my soul to keep? Only God knows for sure, but truth be told, I won't sorrow for what occurred, for if given a second chance to repeat what I did ... I would, for the queen's daughter was very handsome!
A Day of Woe contest entry
Looking from a dungeon window, I see the light brighten a morning to mourn as this is the day this fellow dies.
Lowly clouds linger like steam escaping a sewer, drifting up to a bell tower with walls that seemingly drip tears. Within an hour, its clappers will toll, commanding me forward to lose my head.
A crowd begins gathering in the king's court below, snickering and bellowing, anxious to watch the show ordered by the queen for an amourous affaire I shared with her daughter eight months ago.
I remember that night, and smile. It may be the last I provide before the executioner severs my head.
What must be shall be, yet, in four short weeks, her precious princess will bear a mini-me.
Listen. There are footfalls in the hall. Keys jingle softly. They open my door. There, wearing red, a Cardinal queries, "Isn't it time to pray?" I answer, "No. I had my piece; I lost no sleep doing what I had done with an august child."
That recollection unveils a second smile as I fondly recall how 'mi lady' smelt and felt. Go ahead. Toll those bells, my invitation to visit hell, but not until my last drop of blood hits the ground.
I enter the courtyard standing erect, then dance a jig before ascending the steps. The raucous crowd applauds and laughs.
Up on the scaffold, I greet the garroteur with a grin. He does not return my offering. An officiator then reads an edict issued by the queen. It speaks nothing good of me. The crowd boos.
Without further delay, I am laid parallel. A straw-strewn basket lies beneath my crown. Its purpose to mute the thump heard where my head comes to rest.
Body and soul separate. The latter rises wondering. Did the royals charge admission? And what of my heir? Will he receive renumeration?
I drift further away, but wait. Before me is a gate, yet I see no soul to greet me. I waft on by, wise to know I'm likely going to another place. Still, hope is eternal that 'her grace' I disgraced will arrive not too far behind me.
To restful sleep; my soul to keep? Only God knows for sure, but truth be told, I won't sorrow for what occurred, for if given a second chance to repeat what I did ... I would, for the queen's daughter was very handsome!
 Recognized |
One never knows what will pour forth from me. Herein, I ventured back to days of old where rascals like I were mystified by women locked in castle towers.
The picture is of artwork hanging above our guestroom bed. It seemed fitting for this story.
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and 2 member cents. The picture is of artwork hanging above our guestroom bed. It seemed fitting for this story.
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