Saturday, June 8, 2013

Best Served Cold

Janx recognized the chamber immediately. His dreaming mind ticked off the information without need to resort to his field journals: European continent…Italy…Rome…Il Palazzo di Giustizia…Camera #27 to be specific. 

It was, he was forced to concede, a most impressive room. From the polished marble floor tiles to the frescoed ceilings, from the gilded chandeliers to the intricately-carved woodworking of the walls, it was the epitome of ornate grandeur…the perfect marriage of form to function.

The scene wavered...refocused…liveried guardsmen, sunlight glinting from their halberds, led robed judges to their seats for the trial…his trial?…to begin.

The nightmare ended, as always, with crowds of unwashed peasants chanting “Colpevole!” before the axe descended to remove his highly-educated head from his neck. Then…it all began again.

Half a planet away, Talanda smiled. She had scarcely begun to exact her revenge on that miserable worm, Janx, but then a proper meal always began with appetizers.


This story was written for the weekly Visual Dare flash fiction prompt: ornate. As a personal challenge, I have been stringing the prompts from week to week into an ongoing story. This marks the 13th such and previous installments may be found here

2 comments:

  1. OH NO. You can't do that to poor Janx. He's such a well meaning blunderbuss. Don't make him live through the French Revolution TOO many times, okay? Er....Jeff? Hello....? ::crickets chirping::

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  2. Oooh . . . what a devilish piece! I love it! . . . I'll have to go back and check out the other pieces!

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