Sunday, 1 March 2015


by Alex Brightsmith

To have escaped, only to die in a simple robbery; it was absurd. But there were three muggers, and I’d run out of alley.

The first crumpled silently, the second with a grunt. The leader span, slashing wildly. His knife clattered aside, leaving only me and the stranger.

There was a spreading stain on his shirt, but he smiled as if finding me had been the answer to his prayers, and I followed him.

By street light I saw that the stain was green, and my own blood ran cold.

He smiled.

“Missstresss would not have you die sso eassily.”

Author bio: Alex Brightsmith was born and raised in Bedfordshire and defies anyone who was not to place it on a map. Profligate examples of Alex’s work have been blogged at

Reprieve is part of 101 Fiction issue 7.

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