Misericorde in hand, the zealot inspects the mortally wounded crusader. In every
direction, the sacrosanct fallen cover the battlefield. Only the lucky ones died swiftly,
faithfully as ordered, for the Holy City.

The zealot considers taking this crusader prisoner. But with black flies feasting on his
ghastly open wounds, nothing could save him. Not even a god.

Today is his death date. Both men know.
They lock eyes.
The vanquished man cries, begins to rage, then breaks into song about home.

His last thought, not the falling dagger, but a memory.
His brother in childhood. Trying to make someone laugh.


Notes:

This is another 100-word story written in 24 hours. It received nice feedback in the NYC Midnight 100-Word Microfiction Challenge. The genre was “historical fiction”. The story had to contain a theme of “making someone laugh” and the word “date”. The rest was imagination.

Image:

Silver Knight Helmetis licensed under CCO