Flash Fiction

The gates were pushed and the bitty dust and the grey air blew in. It swirled and eddied. The uninformed guards coughed and shielded their eyes against the skin peeling assault. Behind the wall of dust came the spittler.

A spittler is an otherwise normal man, who has a leathery skin and the constitution of a camel. A spittler can travel through the dry ashen desert areas for days without food, and more impressively, water. A side effect of this ability is the constant chewing motion and the regurgitating of spittle.

The guards, however uninformed, knew when to be afraid. The spittler stared aggressively at them and delivered a globlet of spit that landed plumb in the middle of the lead guards’ chest. He staggered slightly, before the two poorly uniformed guards, eased back the jewel heavy inner doors to expose the inner courtyard. As he walked, the slap of the spittler’s sandal echoed around the silver tiled courtyard. He stopped by the ornate fountain and swivelled on his heel until his eye fell upon the small but fat prince secluded in the covered area that made for one side of the prince’s meagre palace. The spittler stroked his hand across his few remaining straggling hairs and unfolded his papyrus parcel. On the rather stiff papyrus was written the word he had brought and the word was lawlessness.  When the prince realised what the word said and that he could not remember why he had sent the spittler on such an epic journey to retrieve it, he started to panic. The spittler had expected this reaction and calmly brought out his deep carved vibrogun and pointed it smoothly at the prince and wreak havoc flowed.