Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

The Procession

The long procession made its way through the crowd. At the front, the black horses breathed heavily as they strained to carry their passenger through the crowded street.

The bundled people lined the edges of the cobble-way, everyone pushing and shoving to get better views. There were pregnant mothers watching from the windows of shops as their husbands sold warm bread to hungry pilgrims.

Jameson sighed. His breath staining the frigid air. He did not have to come far, not like many of the strangers around him. He could pick out four different dialects just in the few people that were lined up in front of him. But they hushed each other as the black horses came into view.

Nobody talked as she passed by. Many had heard of her beauty, but few actually believed the tales of her exquisite features--until now. Nobody could deny the perfection of her face. The way her nose sloped down gracefully, and the contrast of the slight blush on her high cheek bones and her pale skin. No, she was indeed the most beautiful lady in the whole kingdom.

She was dressed simply though. A simple white satin gown. Though more than what most attending could afford, it was hardly befitting of a princess. The only other adornment was a bed of roses surrounding her. Simple, but she seemed all the more beautiful because of it.

As the wagon passed, someone next to Jameson spoke.

"It's a real shame. That someone so young should die, a real pity. She was a good person--I hear anyways--much better than most those other pigs. She was our last hope for peace."

Jameson too knew that the princess was the last hope as he watched her cold body carried away. The last hope for peace? Indeed. But Jameson knew she was much more than that--she was his last hope for happiness. She was gone.

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