a word picture – written for OLWG#55
The short summer night brings no respite from the oppressive heat that cloaks this god forsaken corner of the earth. No breeze to offer absolution. Klemper, a big man, sits across the table. His enormous head takes up too much space in the room. Sweat builds on his brow and runs down, it follows his jagged scar. A scar that begins just beneath his hairline traverses below the patch that covers his right eye only to disfigure the corner of his mouth and fall off his face at the chin. It is barren where surrounded by his rough scrabble beard. I study his eye above the candle flame and wait for him to break the silence.
“I’m here, Dalgaard,” he curls his malformed upper lip as he sneers; “I’ll hear what you have to say before I kill you.” He wiped the sweat off his face in a downward motion, shook his hand and slapped it loudly on the table top.
With no delay I unsheathed my Puukko and drove it down hard, pinning his hand to the table. It was the same Lappland blade that had scarred his face and taken his eye.
“You’ll have to kill someone else today, Klemper; but you should know that Göran is back and he hasn’t forgotten.” I pulled my knife back and wiped the blade on my sleeve.
“I’ll kill Göran first then. Before I come for you.” he said. He raised his freshly cut hand and lifted his glass. In response, I re-sheathed my weapon and turned away.
This weeks prompts:
- limpid pools
- look at these scars
- when the boys arrive