Prompt by Chuck Wendig at TerribleMinds here. I rolled this scenario:
Brannog hefted the leather bag up on his shoulder, carefully steadying the load with one hand while he walked through the mess of parcels and bags and stepped back into the workroom. The soft shirring sound of papers being slid and sorted through many hands filled in the air, occasionally interrupted by the quick tump-tump on the wooden counter as a pile was set right and neat after being stacked. Brannog moved back to his station through the line of workers, two rows down, one column up from the storeroom door, and set his new load down beside him. A glance at the post addresses on top of the pile showed that this batch was for the Riverway Line, southward bound. He took his stick of graphite from the cup next to his bench and began sorting. First one, then another, scribbling the 4-letter town code on each for easy delivery. SHBR goes to South Boertown, RAVL to Ranville, and so on.
Assignment for a LitReactor class, “The Practical Craft of Fantasy.”
Margaret drew the curtain back slowly, taking care not to pull too hard on the thin, slightly musty fabric. The worn beading crinkled beneath her fingers and she took a step inside the tent. She paused a moment for her sight to adjust, blinking back the bright specks of the sundrenched day still lingering in her eyes. Behind her the buzzing of the hurdy-gurdy man she had passed just moments ago mixed with the sharp squeals of a group of children as they ran towards the games of chance on the far midway. She brushed a patch of dust from her skirt as she glanced nervously around the space, taking in the threadbare rugs that lined the floor, their oriental patterns clashing garishly with the many tapestries that hung around the small tent. Margaret took another step towards the lone wicker chair set up in the center of the room and looked around her.
“A fortune for the lass?”
Assignment: Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenge
This is my roll.
Challenge is due Friday January 16th.