This week at the Parking Lot Confessional we had a guest blogger, Dex Raven, gives us our prompts for the 500 Club. He had some great ones, let me tell you. I attempted to do both, but admittedly, I don’t think I accomplished #2. I used the song Passive by A Perfect Circle. Enjoy…


My breath still came heavy even though the melee had ended. Skirmishes could still be heard at the fringes of copse, but here at the center all were still, looking down on the body of King Hallow.

A young Blood Mage gropes the body, pressing his grimy hair to the king’s chest and moving his hands from wrist to gold-collared neck.

My voice is strained between clenched teeth.

“Tell me he lives.”

“Dead as dead can be,” the Blood Mage tells me, a smile peeling off his broken teeth.


My knuckles pop. The blade in my hand trembles under my grip. I just can’t believe him, ever the optimistic one.

“Raise him,” I commanded.

The mage’s smile faltered.

“But, sire,” he stammered. “He’s dead. His lands are yours. There no need—”

“Question my command again and I’ll have your tongue.”

Leaning over him here, cold and catatonic, I caught a brief reflection of what he could and might have been. It was his right, his ability.

To become my perfect enemy.

I landed a boot in the King’s side.

“Wake up! Face me!”

I turned on the Mage.

“I want him up! I want him to die a thousand deaths by MY hand, not falling from a startled beast!”

He fell back on his hands, avoiding the tip of my blade. Only when he nods did I back off. The pouch tied to his hip shook in his grip. Leaves and crystals dropped to the blood-soaked grass, but he manages to pull out a vile of brackish liquid.

He pulled the stopper and poured it into the king’s mouth. The mage tilted the king’s head back and worked at his throat and none too gentle at that.

This was not how it was supposed to end. For years Hallow reigned at the edge of the canyon’s cliffs, endlessly denying my right to trade with the sea merchants’ just beyond. His way of knowing just before my men would attempt a night crossing, caused me night after night plotting. Were his spies that good?

I think not. This man, this King knew the moves I would make and countered each and every one of them. And that was why I had no doubt that he would be at the opposite side of this copse waiting for my men as we planned out final attempted at what was rightfully ours.

“Maybe he’s better off this way,” someone says.

I didn’t catch who, or they would’ve ended their last breath with that statement. However, the thought lingers in my head. Maybe it was better this way.


I don’t remember moving, but I’ve knocked the Blood Mage to the ground. Whether I used my fist or my sword, I know not or care.

“Go ahead and play dead! I know that you can hear me! Go ahead and play dead!”

I picked the lifeless body up and threw it back down to the mud. The slope of the ground was enough to cause the body to roll as it landed.

“Why can’t you turn and face me?” I yell at the dead king.

All was silent then. Even the crows held their caws.

I turned from my men, the wounded, and the dead.

“You fucking disappoint me.”

Creative Commons License
Passive by S. C. Green is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.


One thought on “Passive

  1. And you’ll be writing *this* novel when? Come on. Get to it!

    I could totally hear the song and envision the scene in my mind like a Frank Miller movie (with Maynard playing both the lead *and* the dead king somehow).

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