Dottie over at Tink's Place has come up with the idea for a Monday Morning Flash Fiction challenge. Each Monday a new picture prompt will be posted and if you choose to participate - you post your story on Friday - 350 words, give or take.
A prayer to War
The bell had struck, the time was near. Calen looked up at the shrine and prayed for success. The temple was silent; none came to worship at the altar of War in times of peace. Something he had never understood. War was constant, strife was never-ending, so who not to worship then? They could play peace all they wanted but people coveted what neighbors had. They argued over silly things and had affairs with the wives. Wives who in silence despised their husbands over mistresses and plotted silly revenges. A never-ending circle starting from children and it played out until you died.
He stood up and bowed before the statue.
“Let me sword be swift,” he murmured and took it out and placed it on the altar. The light shimmed on his blade and he dripped a few drops of blood from his finger on it. He waited and took it up. “Thank you glorious Lord,” he said and backed out from the temple. One did not turn ones back on War.
Outside the sun shone and a few kids ran past as he came out. They stared at him for a moment and he knew he was quite the sight. A priest has painted his naked chest with red symbols, but this was a big city and stranger things could be found. So he took his horse and rode home. A quiet little place with a smithy next to it where he worked all day long. An honest trade. He went in and mourned for a moment the loss of sound, the loss of little Amie. But he did not linger on those thoughts and went to wash of the red paint. After a while he heard footsteps and knew Ksenia was back.
The scent of cabbagesoup reached him as he came downstairs. Ksenia stood over the fireplace and he stared at her for a while and smiled. She was as bonny as the day they first met.
“Dinner is soon ready,” she said and put in a few spices.
“I know,” he answered and hugged her close. She smelled of hay.
As she dropped to the floor with his sword in her back and wondered where everything had gone wrong. Had he not been a good faithful husband? He shook his head and left her in her pile of blood. No one would blame him. Women were a step above animals after all.
Eh, not that good