James Ashton
Stories (2)
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The Sword of Calais
They call me the Sword of Calais, and I’ve been summoned to England to kill the Queen. It is, I assure you, an act of kindness. She wishes, I am told, to die in knelt prayer. The Lord God knows it is the best way to die, hands clasped and the name of Jesus as her final breath.
By James Ashton4 years ago in Fiction
Execution
Even the Hun didn’t shoot their own men. At least that’s what Private Miller had been told. He took a breath and tried to stand up straight, the stench of the trenches mingling with a clear Westerly breeze that promised Spring. Somewhere miles behind the ruined farmhouse the German artillery pieces were warming up their barrels with a morning volley. The sky rumbled low and some crows, fat on human flesh, squawked and took to the sky.
By James Ashton4 years ago in Horror
