Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Two Hundred and Eighty-Two

They bound her and threw her into one of their foul-smelling skin tents from where she heard the moment when the minstrel’s glorious voice broke under their torturer’s hands. She swore to have vengeance, as tears of rage and pity, streaked her dirty cheeks.

When they dragged her to her feet she thought herself about to die, but instead she was herded into another tent where a tattooed giant ordered them to unbind her.

He was arrogant, that would-be rapist, and she sunk her teeth into his jugular, dying her own death in a pool of his blood.

©️jj 2019

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: