Gin felt the lake close over her as she bathed. Recent attacks came to mind as a hand covered her mouth. She let herself drop, and planted a solid punch into a groin. Exhaling loudly her uncle bent and she chopped his throat, her hand hard as steel. He fell forward. Gin stomped his neck and forced him under water. She kept the pressure on until he ceased flailing, then hurriedly dressed and ran home. This might be the death of her and her family, her uncle having been a powerful lord, but what was done was done.
Posts Tagged ‘drowning’
Tags: 100 word story, Adam Francis Smith, attack, creative writing, dead, death, drowning, Feudal Japan, flash fiction, microfiction, murder, scrawl brawl, short story
Tags: 100 word story, dead, death, drowning, flash fiction, knight, medieval, microfiction, mud, scrawl brawl, short story, sinking, the despot, Vincent Crampton
“Boy! Give me your hand,” ordered Sir Ballard, knee deep in bog mud.
“You gave me your hand yesterday,” said Haymuth. “Across my face.”
“For defending my sister’s honor.”
Ballard’s waist disappeared. “Your sister was a whore.”
“She was a maiden yesterday morning. By noon, a harlot. By evening, a corpse.”
Ballard’s breastplate was engulfed. “I did not kill her.”
“Your lust did.”
“Fetch a rope!”
“My sister used the rope. When I regained consciousness, she was swinging from a rafter.”
“I should not die like this. I’m a knight. Chivalry …” Ballard’s head disappeared.
“… is dead.”
Tags: drowning, flash fiction, Katherine Parker, knife, microfiction, Mobsters, murder, scrawl brawl, short story
“One, two, three, shots to the head,” Cecilia said.
“Four, five, six, now you’re dead.” Anton replied.
“Seven, eight, nine, you’ll be fine.” She smiled.
“Until I knife you while you dine.” He finished.
Cecilia smirked, draping a slender leg over the edge of the dock.
“You’re sick,” Anton said, laughing. He smeared blood across his pants.
She shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m not the one disposing of my father’s body.”
Anton grinned. “Angelo always wanted to be buried in the lake.”
“I think he meant after his heart stopped beating,” she said as Angelo’s last exhale surfaced with a burble.
Tags: drowning, piracy, pirate, shipwreck
I stand against the mast of our wrecked ship, tied to the tide.
She’d surrendered the battle, called me the “subjugator of all who ride the waves.”
I escaped the San Juan prison with the booty, sailing for the soft green meadows of home.
Then the tide turned.
Was it worse losing the treasure, or losing it to a woman who calls herself a pirate?
No matter now, for yonder she breaks the horizon; white sails and yellow hair a flyin’.
My bloody wounds call the great finned monsters, and the tide is rising.
The tide is, the tide, the …
Tags: Battle, blood, Broadside, cabin boy, Captain, creative writing, drowning, flash fiction, grape shot, microfiction, scrawl brawl, ship, short story, sinking, Vincent Crampton
“Discipline,” shouted the captain, “is essential! Three days in the crow’s nest.”
Better than flogging, thought Jim, until the nausea started. Every wave swung Jim in a dizzying arch. He curled up, retching. “Damn the captain.”
Shouts below. Jim peered over the lip.
A ship swung broadside, releasing grapeshot. Gunwales splintered. Sails shredded. Decks ran red.
Another salvo. The ship listed, sank, swallowing captain and crew.
The sea approached. “Save me,” Jim prayed.
The hull crunched on coral, suspending Jim a fathom above water.
The attacking ship sailed off.
“Come back,” Jim called.
It didn’t. Not all prayers are answered.
Tags: Battle, creative writing, drowning, flash fiction, microfiction, piracy, pirate, scrawl brawl, sea, sea monster, ship, short story
The grandson of Red Beard, Flint Turner was the size of three men and boasted a cutlass no average man could lift alone. The tips of his crimson mustache, beaded and braided, stretched down, clacking against the leather and gold adorning his chest. His every bellow commanded the tides, undulating the inferior neighboring vessels. He feared no man, no ship, for he consorted and swam with the denizens of the sea. With a whistle and a click, he commanded the submerged monsters, tearing ships and drowning souls. “Plunder my enemies.” Never a mark on his ship nor foe left alive.
Tags: creative writing, drowning, flash fiction, microfiction, piracy, pirate, raft, scrawl brawl, sea, short story, Vincent Crampton
The pirate skiff circles Sardinio’s raft. His village razed, the scared, skinny clam diver’s son struggles asea.
Spear aloft, Captain smiles gold. “Little minnow, unarmed like your father. We’ll filet you, too.”
Sardinio licks salt from chapped lips. Grabbing stone anchor, he plunges into kelp forest.
“After him!” Captain bellows, diving.
They gulp air, dive deep, pursuing bubbles. Spears jab shadows.
Bubbles escape coral cave.
Sea stalkers enter darkness like morays seeking lobster supper.
Deep rumbling. The cave mouth crumbles, drowning watery screams inside.
Sea surface breaks. Sardinio gasps. Lies back, floating.
His father gave him his weapon — strong lungs.