Today on Drabble Wednesday we travel to lands rent asunder, to kingdoms fallen…
After the War
The rivers still flow, past the ruins, past the end of our world.
And we flow with them, on our small boat. On and on with the current, a bobbing bit of nothing waiting to see what transpires. Waiting to see if we become pawns or join the ranks of the dead.
We are the royal children, smuggled away in the night as the kingdom fell, as the palace burned. We exchanged our silks and velvet for coarse linen and wool, our beautiful home for a cramped and tiny boat.
But we are alive. There is a chance for vengeance.
Eternally Beneath the Moons
The ghost of queen always walks under the moons, when the blue glow merges with pale silver. In each passing footstep the celestial radiance weeps tears, following her eternal, spectral form as it keeps vigil. The queen seeks peace, but finds only anguish in her death.
Around the old palace garden she strolls, calling the names of her lost and vanished children, babes stolen from her arms and slaughtered by invaders. They never answer, for they cannot. Tiny slashed throats no longer speak.
Still, she searches, her voice an echo off the moons. She calls endlessly, and forever, in vain.
My tiny one whimpers, afraid but uncomprehending. I press my lips to her ear and murmur, “Hush, my sweet. It will be over soon. Close your eyes and Mama will make it better.”
My darling girl obeys, never realising. I raise my knife and pierce her heart. She dies in my arms, and I kiss her cold cheek in farewell. I hoped she understood. I did it to spare her.
She will not be taken as sacrifice to their awful gods.
They may control our kingdom, but they will not have royal blood.
I raise the knife to my throat.
© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved