A Friday Fictioneer fail–this one weighs in at 104 words.
Havon was a gentle man. When she’d come by with the swollen eye, he’d made a compress to soothe it. And when she came in crying—two months gone with Mister’s baby—Havon had made her tea.
Today, she’d limped in clutching bruised ribs from where Mister’s boot had landed.
Havon walked to his window and took a bottle from the highest shelf. “Two drops will take away the pain, but any more is deadly.” He handed her the bottle. “I won’t expect to see you back. Not like this.”
She hurried home with the tincture curled into one fist. Mister’s dinner would not be late.
This has been another edition of the Friday Fictioneers–where writers from around the world contribute their own 100-word story for the prompt. To read more stories or submit your own, click the blue froggy button:
To learn about the Fictioneers, visit our talented and gracious host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.