Thursday, September 20, 2012

Begin (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images. I own nothing.

FLASH FICTION PROMPT

“Begin”

The word fell ominously in the icy air, as if it held our judgements and decrees in a single hand.

I dared not look up at the grandmaster, but rather, turned my quill to the faintly damp sheet of parchment. I should have taken more pains to keep it stiff and dry, but at least, my dull quill will most likely not rip it to beices.

I think.

I hope.

I am not really ready for this prize. I am not sure what I would do with the crown of Iversole. I don’t know anything about ruling–well, no, that’s not quite true. I do know something of it, I just prefer not to make that public knowledge.

It seems that will be inevitable in the near future.

The bell in the courtyard tolls, the chime falling three times.

I must begin.

I really do not wish to.

It seems so unfair. But I have no choice, I have paid all that I have to my name, to enter this contest. I should hope that these royals can honor their word.

“Begin!” The cry is repeated.

This time, all who were frozen, begin to move, feverish fingers, trembling from the cold, gripping every manner of writing instrument to put together their priceless essay.

I can feel the grandmaster’s eyes on me. I can almost hear the words in his big head, he would want to know why I have yet to move.

It is because I only feel it is fair to give the others a chance.

Someone is counting aloud, somewhere.

I can hear the voice, old, wizened and loud. It is used to shouting.

These dear people…

The time is nearly passed when the final call rattles through the air.

It takes a scant second to press my quill to parchment and scrawl out the line that will secure my future.

Whatever freedom I have known will soon be locked inside a gilded cage. But I have no heart to lament it.

My scrawl, is perhaps, more legible than the elegant scripts of my fellow participants. There is one line. It is the answer to this riddle, but few are thinking of this as a challenge within a contest. They are blind. Good-hearted, gentle and hard-working, but blind.

Perhaps I shall do this for their own good.

I would fit the crown of Iversole, because I do not wish to be King.

(c) Sara Harricharan

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