The reason I love flash fiction so much is for the same reason I like working on daily vignettes, they give me these seeds for a story I can choose to come back to and work with at a later date. Often, I start out with a thought and find out as I’m writing that it escalates quickly.
This latest one came to me while I was sitting in my car during a downpour. I had gotten to a meeting early and had just visited a monastery earlier in the week.
So, this came about:
Nights like this suck up the light. Even the flickering lamplight is gone quickly as if some dark monster is out there eating it all up and leaving only the darkness. The rain is pouring, its icy fingers soaking through these black robes. Everywhere the air smells of wet plants and stone.
The weather couldn’t be more fitting. A coup shouldn’t be marked by sunshine, the dramatic mood of the weather matches the occasion. The overthrowing of a king should have some flair.
I tuck the book back into my robes, the note there memorized, but the feel of paper, even wet, is oddly soothing. It’s a concrete form of an idea, something I can hold to in the calm before the chaos.
I make a brief sign, I may only be masquerading as a monk, but the prayer I just said was genuine.
The rain masks my footsteps, whether the shivering is from the cold or the nerves I can’t tell, probably both. I come to the door, a great oaken door, sturdy and designed to hold off attacks, not assassins.
I nod to the knight stationed there. He looks miserable, he too is shivering. He only briefly looks at me and gestures toward the door. Wet, miserable fool.
I open the door and step in.
J. Roscius 