Fiction: Revenge

The sinking of the sun always deadens my mood as the skies turn red. It's a reminder of all the blood I have spilled and will spill again. The waters are calm. Too calm. There is no wind today, and I've a bad feeling there will be no wind tomorrow. The men will suffer many splinters as they row to our goal, and perhaps they will also suffer many lashes on their backs if they are slow.

My fingers drift down the lengthy scar on my cheek. A souvenir of a mutiny long ago, and the man responsible long escaped. There have been rumors he is on the island, looking for the very treasure we seek. If this is true, then I shall have satisfaction on two counts.

The sky is now almost dark, the blood drained from the heavens to leave us an almost pleasant starry sky. The moon is starting peek over the horizon, and it's a full moon, like the time of the mutiny. An omen? Perhaps, but I've never been one for too many superstitions, only the ones that benefit me.

The cabin boy is sneaking around again, thinking I must be deaf if I can't hear his clumsy footsteps on the deck. Perhaps I'll give him a taste of the lash, or perhaps I'll be merciful and just grant him the gift of a swift kick to his ungrateful rump.

Wait, no. Easy now, Captain. The boy's sneaking around to do his duties because he knows how your mood is during twilight. Save your punishments for the one who tried to betray you, the one you'll soon find and give him scars of his very own. An eye for an eye, a scar for a scar.

Speaking of which, I think I'll use the whetstone on my favorite blades, perhaps my knife. I want it to sing when I slide it out of its sheathe, and I want it to be able to cut that traitorous dog's flesh with such ease he won't even know what happened until he starts to bleed.

My heart's starting to beat heavily against my chest like it's a thing independent of me. Maybe it is. I don't feel the excitement of the chase, nor do I feel anything from thinking thoughts of revenge. I must already be dead, and my heart's a stupid thing that doesn't even know the rest of me's long gone.

Perfectly all right, since someone else will soon be truly dead. Maybe then the twilight sky will no longer deaden my mood, and I can live again.

For now, I think I'll leave orders for the men to start rowing, then go to my room to sharpen my blades, then drink my way to sleep. I can only hope I meet that filthy traitor in them, as I could use some practice for how I'll get my revenge.

100 Word Challenge: Sunrise

A friend challenged me to 100 word fiction using only descriptives. A minotaur watching the sunrise. So here it is:

The sun rose over the horizon slowly, the green of the glen, the blue of the loch, and the brown of the minotaur's fur slowly coming out of the deep shadow of the night. He reached up to run a calloused finger along the length of one long horn, the pale white fading into the dirty black of its tip. His dark chocolate brown eyes took in the waters that sparkled like jewels from the sun's rays. The dew that dotted his hooves would soon fade into memory, waiting for the next day where he would greet the sunrise again.