Finishing Touch
Liquid shadows shifted along the Bishops' robes; fat, dusty columns circled the Council of Nicaea.
Darts of candle light danced on parchment and struck the words of Jesus. “Let no middle man come between us, the only church is under the stars.”
Emperor Constantine's lips twisted, “That won't do.” He nodded to his scribes. "Fix it."
The Bishops shuffled, mute; dust spiraled above torches; silence boomed.
Want to comment on this Flash Fiction?
Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Flash Fiction and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...
|
 |
|