Deadly Decisions

She was just as charismatic as he had imagined her. She was not beautiful, really, her nose was too big. But standing there in the throne room, Marcus could see why Caesar had been fascinated. Part of it was the wealth and the power. Now it was his turn to woo her; he needed her money and ships to accomplish his plan to rule Rome.

He caught her gaze and the future became real to him. They would sail the Nile and have great military successes in the East. But he couldn’t see the asp slithering along in his future.

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

Historical Fiction Winner

Call me a sucker for Shakespeare, but my choice for the best Historical Fiction entry is Lady Macbeth, by Linda Lowe.

Here it is again, in case you missed it:

Life had become so boring, so beige boring. Every day it was hound the maids, light the candles, greet the guests. Then along came prophecy! What’s not to believe about a witch, let alone three? Once again, my world oozed with possibility.

What came to pass? Life in red, gushing red. There was blood in the soup, blood in the stew, blood on the hands of my husband. I thought about the plagues in Egypt, the Pharaoh who knew about miracles turned against him. I thought about science. That what flows, surely ebbs? While the old king’s blood ran blue.

Congratulations Linda, and thanks to everyone who submitted stories to our first ever contest. In my book, you're all winners!

And if you want to read the other submissions, you can find them here.

Of special note, a lot of you submitted more than one story, and because I was only posting one story per day, I didn't want to have repeat submissions early in the month crowd out first-time submitters. I'll be posting those extra submissions in the coming weeks. Moving forward, I'll close submissions before I start posting.

I'll be announcing a new contest soon, but in the meantime, keep submitting stories!

Gold

HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:

It was a scene out of a Joseph Heller novel. For three weeks, Nyhoff's platoon, at the behest of Colonel Walters, had driven them to take the god-damned hill. There was no apparent strategic value, and everyone assumed it was another cockamamie order from the generals. The generals rarely knew what they were doing.

But they eventually took the hill, and a lot of men died. Nyhoff wouldn't say they were good men, but they were men, and now they were dead. All because Colonel Walters had heard rumors of an abandoned cache of gold.

There was never any gold.

From Guest Contributor Gary Linehan

It Would Be The End Of Prohibition For Harry

HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:

Harry didn't know what the big deal was. Sure, alcohol was prohibited (it was called Prohibition after all) but it was readily available if you knew where to ask. Harry knew where to ask.

His favorite place to get a bottle was the jazz joint by the river, the one popular with the colored folk. As far as Harry was concerned, they had the best gin and the best music. There were plenty of white folks there too, but Harry did his best not to be seen.

If his Ma ever found out he was drinking on a school night...

From Guest Contributor Jesse Debbins

1970s Justice

HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:

Nevada shivered from the rush of adrenaline. Life was not fair, so why should she be? She cried for justice for her daughter. He laughed. She had never fired a gun. So uninformed she didn't know if she held a rifle or shotgun, nor the proper distance from her target. She took the gun, the one he used camping and to bag deer, from his end of the closet. She did not know the blast radius or the kick that would knock her on her ass. She did not know how to hunt a moving target, but she could learn.

From Guest Contributor Leah Holbrook Sackett

Strange Sightings

HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:

Bill watched as fire tore the sky. Just as suddenly, the flame disappeared and a streak of dark smoke hit the ground. Whatever noise sounded at the impact was too distant for Bill to hear.

He hopped on his tractor and headed to the next field. He'd heard of airplanes in Albuquerque, but never actually seen one.

What Bill found at the crash site sent him running. As he drove to Roswell to inform the authorities, he was passed by a line of army trucks headed to his farm. By the time he returned home, the strange vehicle was gone.

From Guest Contributor Chris Thompson

Wifely Advice

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

“Gaius, dear, you know you don’t have to go. You do look quite ill and the vote will wait till tomorrow.”

“Yes, but I am Consul and it is my responsibility,” he answered while slipping into his toga.

“But the augurs said that today is inauspicious. Why don’t you stay home?”

“I suppose I could. You are very convincing, my dear.”

A loud knock on the door interrupted their conversation. The door opened and Brutus said, “Hurry up, we’re late for the Senate.”

“I won’t be long, dear. We’ll dine together,” promised Caesar as he walked out into the atrium.

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

Courage

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

“Can I help you?”

“I...I just need a stamp, please.” he stammers, tapping his envelope on the counter. “Do...do you have anything interesting?”

“Not in singles.” She crinkles her nose, mirroring his disappointment. “A Purple Heart?”

“Perfect.”

His quarter and her first-class stamp exchange hands.

“Front box picks up at five. Still time to get that in today’s mail.”

At the door, he affixes the stamp and writes out the address. He retrieves the long-carried letter that starts ‘Dear...Mom?’ and tucks it inside. He seals it, takes a deeper breath, and passes the letter through the slot.

From Guest Contributor Scott Burnam

The Witness

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

Her footman stood in the midst of the crowd on the grounds of the White Tower. He could see the scaffolding, the glistening executioner's sword, and the block where his lady would place her head. Then, Lady Anne climbed onto the scaffolding.

Holding back his tears, the footman listened to the Queen's prayerful last words. He watched as the attendants removed her mantle of ermine and blindfolded her. She knelt down.

With one swift stroke, the French swordsman ended the life of Queen Anne.

The footman turned to his friend and cried, "If only she had given him a son."

From Guest Contributor Deborah Shrimplin

Lady Macbeth

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

Life had become so boring, so beige boring. Every day it was hound the maids, light the candles, greet the guests. Then along came prophecy! What’s not to believe about a witch, let alone three? Once again, my world oozed with possibility.

What came to pass? Life in red, gushing red. There was blood in the soup, blood in the stew, blood on the hands of my husband. I thought about the plagues in Egypt, the Pharaoh who knew about miracles turned against him. I thought about science. That what flows, surely ebbs? While the old king’s blood ran blue.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda Lowe's poems and stories have appeared in Gone Lawn, Crack the Spine, What Rough Beast, New Verse News, Tiny Molecules and others.