Friday, December 2, 2011

The Dark Lord

My father was a scribe, and his father before him, all the way back to the days before the Dark Lord. When our grim master came, he forced our letters and our learning underground; this was literally, as his spies patrolled the air and land. I learned how to read and write in a damp crevice my father carved out with his own hands, after a hard day of farm labor.

We were all farmers then, and fools or ignorant on top of that. That was the Dark Lord’s doing, to keep us subject to him. I worked as hard to hide my learning as I did to acquire it. All the same, it was hard for a bright boy to cover his light with a basket. There was a close encounter once when I called the bullheaded miller’s son on his “obstinate insolence.” I barely covered with “Aw shucks, thimblehead.”

Not even my wife knew of my birthright, nor the secret history I kept in a cave. I would teach my son of his legacy, however, my wife’s womb was as barren as our hopes. I was convinced the small rebellion of keeping a secret history would die with me.

To read the rest, go to this page.


  1. Your mind is amazing. :) This story takes Stockholm Syndrome to a whole 'nother level!

  2. A good story. As with pretty much everything you write, I would like to read more. That is always a good sign. :)

  3. Thanks again! I didn't think of the Stockholm Syndrome angle, but that's a neat idea.

    This one is long enough (2700+ words) that I could expand it into a longer short story if I wanted. There were some ideas I had that didn't make the final cut, as they distracted from the flow.