The flame flicked lower. Faster his quill scratched across parchment.
Wax dripping in time with his tears; the Old Man wrote.
Though it had been decades, he saw her standing there as if yesterday.
In their fury, she’d nearly been stoned. Only his guilt-ridden intervention had spared her.
Or was it her own steadfast Courage?
Thinking now of his complicity.
Her eyes dull towards him. Neither forgiving nor condemning.
Eventually, she’d left the Village. His greatest regret.
A sad-eyed Priest watched, ‘always they write to right their wrongs. always too late.’
Aloud, “It’s time”, as The HeadsMan entered the small cell.
PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Renee Heath
Photo prompt by our Blog Party hostess- Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-
Word Count: 105