Hands trembling as if ill, she carefully unfolded and held up the tiny fragment of parchment. Her large luminous eyes scoured the faded marks upon the scrap before her. She slowly brushed back a pale wisp of hair from her face. The room about her, the plush bed, the velvet drapes, the view of the sparkling fountain from her high window, all appeared tranquil to an observer's eyes; she stood, and her gossamer gown, hem trailing to the floor, provided a clear statement as to her seeming wealth and peace of mind. Yet she owned not a cent, and even after all these years (had it been years?), she had not an idea where she was...or who she was. She had been kept here for as long as she could remember and had never once seen the face of her captor, nor of another living being. Yet the little piece of parchment she had always carried with her as well...and as soon as she could decipher, or remember, the strange jottings upon it...she knew she would be free. She needed only patience...and time had taught her to have plenty of that.
Saturday, June 30, 2018
Captive
AUTHOR'S NOTE: An attempt at short fiction using the prompts "tranquil, gossamer, kept, fragment, ill, statement." Written in or prior to 2002.
CAPTIVE
Hands trembling as if ill, she carefully unfolded and held up the tiny fragment of parchment. Her large luminous eyes scoured the faded marks upon the scrap before her. She slowly brushed back a pale wisp of hair from her face. The room about her, the plush bed, the velvet drapes, the view of the sparkling fountain from her high window, all appeared tranquil to an observer's eyes; she stood, and her gossamer gown, hem trailing to the floor, provided a clear statement as to her seeming wealth and peace of mind. Yet she owned not a cent, and even after all these years (had it been years?), she had not an idea where she was...or who she was. She had been kept here for as long as she could remember and had never once seen the face of her captor, nor of another living being. Yet the little piece of parchment she had always carried with her as well...and as soon as she could decipher, or remember, the strange jottings upon it...she knew she would be free. She needed only patience...and time had taught her to have plenty of that.
Hands trembling as if ill, she carefully unfolded and held up the tiny fragment of parchment. Her large luminous eyes scoured the faded marks upon the scrap before her. She slowly brushed back a pale wisp of hair from her face. The room about her, the plush bed, the velvet drapes, the view of the sparkling fountain from her high window, all appeared tranquil to an observer's eyes; she stood, and her gossamer gown, hem trailing to the floor, provided a clear statement as to her seeming wealth and peace of mind. Yet she owned not a cent, and even after all these years (had it been years?), she had not an idea where she was...or who she was. She had been kept here for as long as she could remember and had never once seen the face of her captor, nor of another living being. Yet the little piece of parchment she had always carried with her as well...and as soon as she could decipher, or remember, the strange jottings upon it...she knew she would be free. She needed only patience...and time had taught her to have plenty of that.
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