Writing Prompt: Her voice was ragged from crying.

Good morning one and all. I don’t know about you but I could have used another few hours snuggled up in bed this morning. But alas, it is not meant to be. It is time to wake up and get the day started. Don’t worry. I already put the coffee on. By the time the pot is brewed, the morning prompt will be up and there will be a fresh cup. Won’t that be glorious? So let’s get started. Ready, set, write!

Okay now I want to know what killed everything else and why she was arrested in the first place. Something to think about as I caffeinate.

Tuesday, November 23rd:  Her voice was ragged from crying.

Her voice was ragged from crying.  “What can I do?” she asked.  Her heart was breaking.  Her voice scraped across the stones, barely a whisper.  No one heard it.  There was no one to hear it.  She took a deep breath.  It was shaky and it filled her with the scent of damp stone and the metallic scent of blood.  The scent of the blood was fading now.  Either that or she was getting used to it.  She couldn’t tell.  She hoped the former was true, but suspected the latter.

There had been so much blood.  The scent of it filled the air, saturating every breath.  She held herself quiet while the screams of the slaughter filled the space.  At any second she expected she would be the next to scream.  But the attack never happened.  She wasn’t entirely certain why.  The screams ended and silence filled the air.  It was a silence so deep it hurt her ears. 

Outside, she still heard noises.  Fighting, killing, dying.  And then it too was silent.  Nothing remained.  The screams outside lasted until after darkness fell.  She huddled in the corner of her cell and stayed where she was, crying silently until no more tears came.  She now felt hollowed out and rusty as she stayed still curled up in the darkest corner.  Light was beginning to show.  It was a feeble light from a sun barely woken, but it was enough to pick out the details. 

In her small cell, there weren’t many.  She was put there for holding, told to wait while someone came to deal with her. She had been terrified of the jailer and when told not to move, she did just that.  The soldier had no fear that she would run.  After all she was as far back in the dungeon as she could go.  They didn’t need to lock the door.  She would never get past them.   She wondered if the lack of lock on the door was what caused no one to search her cell.

Deciding that she needed to leave if nothing else, she carefully edged towards the door.  She pressed her ear to the heavy wood.  There was no sound outside.  She eased the door open, wincing at the sound of the creaking of the hinges.  They were well oiled.  Everything was kept in correct working order here.  Still the sound seemed to echo in the silence.  She froze. 

Nothing moved, no sound reached her. 

She slipped through the cracked door, not wanting to risk opening it further.  The scent was worse in the hall and hit her like an almost solid mass, pushing her back against the stone wall.  It was the scent of slaughter.  Blood, excrement and other deeper scents that scream of death.  She looked along the corridor.  There were lumps and bumps along the walls, but the center of the hall looked clear.  The doors looked misshapen, bent as though something grabbed them and pulled the metal from the walls.  The weak sun didn’t illuminate much and for this she was grateful.  Knowing time wasn’t going to help, she pushed herself off of the wall, launching town the corridor.  Once moving it was easy not to stop, not to look.  She kept to the path at the center, avoiding looking at the dead things that were once men. 

Once she glanced into one of the cells, looking beyond the misshapen bars.  She saw more shadowed lumps, unmoving in the half light and knew no one in the cells survived.  It hurried her steps.  She realized she was holding her breath and growing light headed.  She forced herself to breath, to take in the scent.  It crawled down her throat and made her want to cough.  She held the cough in, not wanting to make a sound.  She reached the exit.  It was a wide open hole, the heavy door torn from it’s hinges.

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