17 April 2012
Ordinary People
Sammy
If I told you I was a had royal blood, you'd probably laugh and shove me on the ground. But it's true. Yes, this moth-eaten, bloody ragamuffin is a prince. Or used to be.
It all happened three years ago. I was the son of Princess Anne of York, betrothed to Lady Mathilda. I attended posh suited balls and was waited upon by maids. But one late Friday night, as I why carriage was bumping along a narrow, winding lane, an old woman stood in the way.
"He who hears the treble shots this night, fired from a dead man's gun, shall be cursed by the Dark One himself."
We all thought the old lady was mad, and I ordered her away without a hinder. But as we continued the tedious journey, a shot rang out.
And another.
And another.
Three gunshots.
Silence.
On the ground, a man lay dead.
THE DARK ONE WILL HAVE REVENGE!
This was written on his bare chest, where his shirt was ripped and torn. I was petrified and confused. I ran and ran, as far away as I could, before the curse was bestowed upon me...
OP 6 • Opuss № I