Short stories, Flash fiction, and Novel Excerpts

The Mark of Cain

In Writing on December 11, 2009 at 12:54 am

By: Ben Pollard

The Mark of Cain

“If you even breath one word during the trial, Jason will end up looking like a pin-cochin,” Dad forestalled my attempt to protest. “Not one word, I mean it. Enough damage has been done already.”

I stalked out of his chamber, slamming the door behind me. Turning the corner I ran down the dark corridor toward the dank dungeons.

I slipped on the slimy stone floor, skidding and wobbling, hopping from one foot to the other, and slammed into the wooden door guarding the entrance to the deep cells.

“Asmodious’ bouncing balls,” I swore.

“ ’hoo’s there?” A voice grunted from the other side of the portal.

“It’s me, Miranda. I’m here to see the prisoner,” I said, trying to sound reasonable.

“No one’s al’owt down here poppet, Go ‘way,” the hidden guard said. If reason wouldn’t work I’d try a different track.

“My father, Lord (Kain), said I could visit before sentence was carried out. If you don’t trust me then follow along. But I have the right,” I demanded.

“Oi, don’t get your knickers in a bunch with me girly! Best I canna do fer ya is ta git ya out side the young buck’s cell,” he said gruffly; then asked. “That be alright with ya me girl?”

“It’ll have to do,” I said.

A piercing screech stabbed through my ears as the thick iron strapped door opened on rusted hinges. The squat guard, now revealed, waved his fat stubby fingers at me to follow. The dim torch light flickered off his greasy pate between thin tuffs of disheveled hair.

“Come on now lass, ye best hurry before uh change muh mind,” he threw over his hunched shoulder.

“Lead on,” I said lengthening my stride.

The dirty guard stopped at a slightly less bound door and said, “Here we are lass, say what ya have ta and let us get ya gone from here.”

“A little privacy if you please?’ I asked archly.

He didn’t get the hint that I wasn’t really asking, “Now that, uh canna do lass. Be more than muh ears are worth don’t ya know. Just ‘ten like I’m notta here attal.”

That would be impossible with the stench that wafted from him in waves. I didn’t have time to argue with him though.

“Jason? Can you hear me love?” I asked through the door.

I heard a grunt and flesh slapping stone followed by muffled cursing.

Worried I asked again, louder, “Jason, are you alright? Can you hear me?”

Chains’ clicking was my only answer. “Jason! Please! Listen to me! You–.”

The guard setting his hand on my rump interrupted me. I spun around, my fangs gleaming, and hissed at the depraved slob.

“Here now poppet, no need ta get nasty now. Just a wee bit uh fun eh? Whadda ya say? Maybe then I open the door and take a walk ta the privy? How’s that sound my sweet?” The guard asked wiggling his eyebrows luridly.

I find that the harder I work, the more luck I seem to have. –Thomas Jefferson

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