Sir Reginald’s Cruelty

Flash Fiction Knight

Image via Flickr by Jaaaiiro Souza

10 minute flash fiction

Prompt: the season a fallen knight knew the meaning of cruelty.

Sir Reginald Mendon looked up at the cathedral of pine boughs and blue sky, then something wet and sticky landed on his forehead. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Dapple had thrown him, now the wretched horse was drooling on him as well. Sir Reginald groaned, but he did not wipe the saliva away. What was the point after all? He’d been on the run for almost a month now. His clothes were tattered rags, his armor dented and spotted with rust, and his horse was ornery.

Sir Reginald’s stomach rumbled. He was also out of food.

“I should just turn myself in to Adriene. She would forgive me, wouldn’t she?”

Dapple whickered and bit into the grass by Sir Reginald’s left ear.

“You’re right, of course. I shouldn’t have implied the Queen’s sister was anything less than chaste.”

Dapple continued to graze.

“I was drunk, okay?” Sir Reginald sighed. “I was drunk and proud and cruel.”

Sir Reginald closed his eyes. He knew how cruel he could be. He felt it in his bones because all his venom was directed inward now.

It had been for some time.

 

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