He lay still, daring not to breath for as long as he could, pain spilling from his cleaved wound.
A ghostly still settled over the moor, the misty rain continued to fall. The quiet was broken by the moans of the injured. Each time a rebel was found, a gunshot echoed over the field. ‘No quarter given’ had been the order cried by the victors.
He had been there to witness the homecoming, hope and enthusiasm sweeping the nation. They had been so close only to be betrayed by their English cousins. And now it was over. He had seen the Bonnie Prince flee the field.
He froze as the ground behind him moved. A bayonet point prodded at his shoulder. He tried not to wince.
‘One for good measure, rebel scum,’ snarled a voice.
He braced himself. The air moved as the bayonet swung down, burying itself in his side. He couldn’t cry out. He heard laughter as the soldier called out to a comrade and moved on.
A black crow flew down and landed on his face. Still he did not move. All he could think of was Mairi and the home he hadn’t seen for six months.
Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Al Forbes. For more details visit HERE.
To read more stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.
I couldn’t help but link this prompt to a story I wrote only a few days ago for another prompt: CULLODEN.
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