During 2018’s A-Z Challenge, we wrote the first draft of “The November Deadline” and to celebrate that this is now (finally) out with beta readers, we’ll be producing a daily piece of micro-fiction linked to it – some prequel, some containing a detail not included in the story, some snippets from sequels currently being written.
The hunched figure looked like Methuselah’s great-grandfather; the dwindling echo of a civilisation long decayed to oblivion. The rattling cough suggested something terminal, but it was nothing that he hadn’t lived through before. Both hands were required to take the bottle from the shelf; the stopple was loose and betrayed the palsy in the withered arms. A measure went into a glass, followed by water from a crystal flagon, misted with age.
“Tell me” he croaked, a whole spawning of frogs buried somewhere in his throat.
The messenger related his news as the old man sipped his drink.
Laughter, from a chest now hale and hearty reverberated from the walls of the cave.
“They did what?” he chuckled in a clear and bell-like tenor.
© 2021, David Jesson & Debra Carey