The Minister

 

                March 21, 1897

 

                The Prime Minister of England was roused from a deep sleep with the immediate knowledge that something was wrong. He lay in bed, eyes wide, heart pounding. He had always had a rather keen instinct for danger, but this time, it was in his very own home. The first sign of trouble was the soft breeze that was blowing in through the open window a few yards across the room from his bed. The Prime Minister always made sure that the window was properly shut, locked, and the blinds were closed.

            There was no movement in the room, other than the quick rising and falling of the Prime Ministers bed sheets. The Prime Minister’s white hair was receding further and further back each year that passed, and the beer gut he had been developing lately had only accentuated his age. However, the Prime Minister prided himself on his remarkably athletic build.

            “Who’s there?” he called out warily to the dark room. He was relying on his latest hunch, hoping that a possible stalker would be taken aback at his quick mind. However, there was no answer. The Prime Minister sat up quickly, hoping to for a glimpse of the intruder, but looking out beyond the protective borders of his enormous four-poster bed, there was nothing. The ornate tapestries that adorned the walls fluttered in the breeze and the hardwood floor was cast in shifting colors as small clouds blocked out the moonlight, but other than that, nothing stirred.

            The Prime Minister grumbled to himself, he believed that his servants had opened the window. They had become increasingly more concerned with his health and thought that his bedroom grew too hot at night.

            He was already thinking of mild punishments for them all as he stepped lightly out of bed, lit a dwindling candle stub on his nightstand and stretching out his sore back. As if he didn’t have enough on his mind, he thought, and now he was waking up to imaginary assassins. The thought made him sweat in his silk pajamas.

            Soon, he was downstairs in the kitchen, fiddling with the knobs on the stove in order to heat up some water for his tea. He refused to wake up his servants and have them asking him bothersome questions. No, all he wanted was his tea by the candlelight.

            Water boiled, his favorite mug was filled, and the Prime Minister settled into his enormous armchair.

            As he sipped his tea, gazed around at the luxurious room and sighed. He was trying to ease his mind and think of all the wonderful things he had in his life. It worked to an extent, but something was still bothering him. He finished his tea and stood up, scratching his head and trying to think what that irritable itch in the back of his mind was.

            Up the stairs and down the hall, into his bedroom, the Prime Minister closed his door lightly behind him. He turned around to face the room, letting the candle stub and the dish clatter to the floor. He backed up into the wall, his heart rate up again.

            “Good evening,” said a deep voice. A silhouette of a large, beefy man sat in a heavy rocking chair near the window.

            “W-who goes there?” The Prime Minister stuttered.

            “Please, sit.” The figure motioned to the bench at the foot of the Prime Minister’s bed. The Prime Minister attempted to conceal the shaking in his legs by strutting over to the bench with as long a stride as possible.

            “What’s this all about?” The Prime Minister yelled at the man. “What are you doing in my house?”

            “I’m simply returning a favor,” said the man simply. “You were after my life, now I’m after yours.”

            The Prime Minister shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “I know who you are!” He exclaimed suddenly, “You’re that freak!” However, the Prime Minister immediately wanted to take back his words.

            “Freak!” yelled the man, standing up in the shadows. “You . . . you people are the freaks!”

            The Prime Minister sunk slightly in his seat.

            “I have been persecuted, thrown in jail and hunted down like I was some beast. All have been your doing.”

            “You have murdered people!” The Prime Minister yelled, standing up. The man turned, an evil gleam in his eye and the Prime Minister sat back down.

            “I killed to stay away from that prison! It shouldn’t be that way!”

            “I have nothing more to say to someone like you,” The Prime Minister said simply, though the reason he refused to say more was because he didn’t have an answer.

            The man took in a deep breath. “Someone . . . like me?” He said, rhetorically. The man stood in front of the window so the light revealed the man’s body. His enormously broad shoulders, his thick, tree-trunk legs, and his grizzly arms . . . all four of them.

            The Prime Minister couldn’t hold back the gasp that gave away his immense fear. He had only heard of Briareus from police reports. He was an Imperfect, a term given to those born with horrid deformities. His kind littered the sewers and underground places like rats. The people feared them and the government hated them. Most were sent to a special jail, but some managed to get by and live a normal life depending on the conditions of their deformities. However, Briareus wouldn’t settle for either.

            “I’m glad I decided to stay and witness you breath your last breaths, Prime Minister,” Briareus said, spitefully.

            “What do you mean?” The Prime Minister asked, panic taking over his mind. “What are you talking about?”

            “You had chamomile tea, did you not?”

            “What does that have to do with anything?”

            “Answer me.”

            “Yes, yes I did!”

            “Good,” Briareus said. “I just wanted to know whether or not I poisoned the correct batch.”

            “What? You . . . you!” However, The Prime Minister’s mouth suddenly went limp, his vision suddenly becoming fuzzy and his heart feeling weak.

            “Good night, Prime Minister,” Briareus whispered, diving agilely out the window and onto the grass below. The Prime Minister gasped one final breath, then fell dead on the floor.

Reviews

[Jooolie]

Oo I'm hooked :) You had really good detail in this, I think even better than your last book. A few typos, but nothing a quick read-through can't fix. I agree that the term "Prime Minister" is used quite a bit, but I'm not entirely sure what else you would call him besides "him..." Good job :)

[ChristianM]

I thought this was really good. The world you created had me hooked and I'll definitely be reading more. One thing though.
I think you used the term Prime Minister too much. It just seemed that after the first two paragraphs you could have refrained from referring to him as "Prime Minister".
Other than that, very impelling stuff.

[John P. Eiler]

Wow, amazing detail! I didn't even read the whole thing but I could really feel how the Minister did!

[KimLott]

A fun piece with a satisfying end. I would like to see a little development of your main character's personality. Is he brave? cowardly? old? That would add some interest. Could be the beginning of a great story.

[Star Wolf]

Poisoned tea. Interesting, veryyy interesting!

[Darruesh Eetraydes]

It reminds me of a movie. The type of movie I would watching while eating cheetos so keep it up :)

[HorrorMaster]

nice story so far i like it

[sawreese]

cliche poisoned drink, nice XD

A few typos here and there, but as with your other story I'll just get to the other stuff.

I honestly don't think a prime minister would act the way you portrayed, especially in the world you've created so far. I wouldn't necessarily take this as a bad thing, but this seemed exactly like one of those overdone movie scenes with the assassins at the beginning of the flick to me. Still though, while my interest is more on the world than the plot, you've managed to capture it nonetheless.

[James Watts]

I read this and could have sworn I had left a review lol.

said the man simply.(Try to avoid -ly adverbs tagged onto dialogue. Makes it weaker.)

Did a quick scan to make sure, and yea I have read this one and it is still an impressive write.

[WriterSki7]

Ah nice. I'm liking this one. Then again I liked the last one. So far so good. My brians fried so I didn't do too much grammer work. Keeep up the good work!