Photo © Abigail Indorf via Google Maps
The sunset silhouettes the unfinished structure on the far bank: a metal monstrosity, like a deformed sacred tree. When complete, the Magister and his Nine will use it to combine their powers against us.
They call us the Twisted, for the disfigurations our magical mistakes wreak. Our every experiment risks that. Or death. Without the mages’ secret knowledge, the only alternative is subjugation.
I wear my scars proudly.
For weeks, we debated over how to destroy this weapon. But the mages would simply rebuild. Instead, we’ll twist it. Make it backfire. The stronger the spell they try, the worse the result.
Or so we hope. We’ve never tried this.
We wait for darkness. Our guard’s job is to hide the evidence, if none of us survive to help him. He’s more nervous than me.
If I succeed, dying will be worth it. If I fail, death will be a mercy.
Word count: 150. Written for this week’s What Pegman Saw challenge. Big thanks to Karen and Josh for hosting this fun prompt! This week, Pegman takes us to Arlington VA. I found this cool shot looking over the Potomac river. Click on the link to see what images other writers found, and what stories they inspired. And as always, feel free to join in — everyone is welcome!
This story deals with the subject of having to experiment in order to come up with new spells (or at least, spells you personally haven’t been taught), which I recently touched on in this flash fiction story: Lone Wolf.