Thrown Stones

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.

Simon Krapper whimpered from his cross. He was still alive. Eyes bleary from pain, from tears, from the sun, blinked and did not see. He was beyond that. Sweat rolled off his body but still he shivered.

Willum pressed a damp sponge to the crucified man's tortured skin. “Perhaps, I should thank you. I had forgotten that a challenge comes from being challenged. I do hate the feeling, especially when it's as stupidly misguided as yours was but I'd forgotten how invigorating it can be. Rage energized me as surely as if you had struck me with a bolt of lightning. Unfortunately you didn't see. You couldn't. Your faith blinded you. Yet, it's a poor disciple that doesn't realize that their ideology can be used against them. No one walks a perfect path and the ambitious and the zealots are always ready to consume the weak. Look how you ended up here. A whisper and a single piece of forbidden literature. One! I didn't even have to plant it. You already had it. Were you even aware of your own hypocrisy? I wonder.”


No prequels yet. Why not write one?

« Write a prequel


No sequels yet. Why not write one?

Write a sequel »

Comments (0 so far!)