The streets of Kal teamed with festival-goers. Nothing draws crowds like the prospect of burning a woman at the stake.
Even a good drawing-and-quartering runs a distant second.
“Her name is Future,” Proffer said as we made our way back to the inn.
I knew he was referring to the accused. The anguish in his voice surprised me. “You know her?”
Proffer nodded. “As do you. She’s the baker’s daughter, the girl you flirted with our first day here.”
“I do not ‘flirt’!”
“You do. And you marked her by it.”
“It’s clear they know what you are.”
I wrote this fiction for the 100 Word Challenge “Future” at Thin Spiral Notebook.
Also see Part I of this story: If the gods be merciful.
Tara Roberts says
This Future does not bode well.
Jim Anderson says
Well, as the song goes, the Future’s not ours to see . . .