A Bloody Snip

Wow, my head is so in the writing just now, I really wish that I could just dive into it and write all morning! Sadly, I have a stack of Actual Work that must be done, so I'll be diving into that instead.

However, here's a bit I wrote just last night:

From The Murderess's Tale, Copyright 2006 by Susan Adrian, All Rights Reserved

We paused again when we came to Bootham Bar, for Thomas to speak to the guard. I pulled Caesar up just under the gate, the thick, sturdy stone arching above my head, and pressed the palm of my hand against the stone, feeling its clammy strength. The sharp spikes of the iron portcullis hung directly over me, menacing. Suddenly I could see, feel, a crowd rushing these gates. Shoving, pushing, the force of rage, of injustice, hurling them on, past sense. They were packed in like fish in the king's pond, but with purpose, streaming in one jumbled mass toward revenge. Blood. They shouted, their dirt-seamed, wrinkled faces contorted. Women, a few, their skirts tucked above their knees, but mostly men. Men with pickforks and scythes, knives and daggers. Then the gates slammed down, those spikes, the hateful, gleaming spikes driving into…

I gasped and ripped my hand away. I stared at it, the fingers splayed, the tips white from pressing so hard against the stone. A drop of sweat slipped down the palm, followed by a deep red drop of blood from under my bandage. Blood. Revenge.

Previously, this scene had her feel the wall, and think how sharp the spikes were. {yawn} The point here is to insert some passion, some more interest. Also some further sense of dread, and a tie-in to the peasant uprising theme that's currently relevant in history. Comments?

Medieval Word of the Day: canty: Cheerful, lively, gladsome; esp. in Sc. manifesting gladness and cheerfulness; in north of England rather = lively, brisk, active