'It Is Time'--Flash Fiction #MondayBlogs

It Is Time

Stomping boots echo off the stone floors. Torch light rounds the corner and the guards’ silhouettes march in step with their shadows. Silke slowly raises her head. The smell of leather and horse mingles with the moldy straw of her cell. Keys jangle and rattle the iron lock. She wants to scratch the numerous dried cuts on her scalp--they were brutal when they shaved her head looking for witch’s markings--but her hands are chained behind her back. Pain pounds no longer in her thumbs b...