Sharpe Drabble the First
Posed by deannawol.
The Indian sun beat heavily down on the assembled mass of sweating men. The drummer boys flexed the straps as Private Richard Sharpe was brought forward. Sergeant Obidiah Hakeswell twitched to one side, mad eyes fixed on the tall solider being bound to the frame.
"He will have it, Mother, he will have it!" he muttered, rubbing at the scar around his neck. "Getting ideas about his station. 'Taint natural. Well, he'll not get out of this. Says so in the Bible."
The formalities observed, the flogging began. Hakeswell jumped with excitement each time the leather slashed down on exposed skin, his face twisting into a rictus of pleasure. He was - again - safe and had successfully orchestrated Sharpe's demise. The tall Private with his dark, dangerous eyes would be nothing more than low-grade meat at the end of the day.
He was almost drooling as the first thin red lines of red began to appear on the abused skin. As the blood started to flow, Hakeswell shuddered in glee. When Wellsey rode up to order the beating stopped, it actually took several seconds for Hakeswell's pleasure addled mind to comprehend it.
Horror replaced exultation as Sharpe was cut down. Dark eyes turned to Hakeswell and for the first time since his aborted hanging, Hakeswell knew terror. Sharpe's eyes said that he knew who was behind this and Hakeswell would one day regret that he hadn't taken care of the uppity Private with a knife in the dark. Hakeswell gibbered internally, face spasming and twitching as he sweated.
Remember, said that silent glance. I will and one day you are going to suffer for what happened here today.
Ick. Okay, I can't write Hakeswell. Sorry hon!
The Indian sun beat heavily down on the assembled mass of sweating men. The drummer boys flexed the straps as Private Richard Sharpe was brought forward. Sergeant Obidiah Hakeswell twitched to one side, mad eyes fixed on the tall solider being bound to the frame.
"He will have it, Mother, he will have it!" he muttered, rubbing at the scar around his neck. "Getting ideas about his station. 'Taint natural. Well, he'll not get out of this. Says so in the Bible."
The formalities observed, the flogging began. Hakeswell jumped with excitement each time the leather slashed down on exposed skin, his face twisting into a rictus of pleasure. He was - again - safe and had successfully orchestrated Sharpe's demise. The tall Private with his dark, dangerous eyes would be nothing more than low-grade meat at the end of the day.
He was almost drooling as the first thin red lines of red began to appear on the abused skin. As the blood started to flow, Hakeswell shuddered in glee. When Wellsey rode up to order the beating stopped, it actually took several seconds for Hakeswell's pleasure addled mind to comprehend it.
Horror replaced exultation as Sharpe was cut down. Dark eyes turned to Hakeswell and for the first time since his aborted hanging, Hakeswell knew terror. Sharpe's eyes said that he knew who was behind this and Hakeswell would one day regret that he hadn't taken care of the uppity Private with a knife in the dark. Hakeswell gibbered internally, face spasming and twitching as he sweated.
Remember, said that silent glance. I will and one day you are going to suffer for what happened here today.
Ick. Okay, I can't write Hakeswell. Sorry hon!