The Pardoner
KENNETH M. KAPP
The Pardoner rode high in the saddle; reins loosely wrapped around the horn. The horse knew where he was going. The Pardoner’s little fingers weaved patterns in the air that only he
could see.
The sun broke out from behind the clouds and bounced off his weathered face throwing a warning miasma of orange into the sky. The Preacher, in the steeple of his church, alerted the good people of Camelot.
The Pardoner stopped in front of the jail. Waving a document above his head, the doors of the jail opened, and all the desperados of the West danced out.
Kenneth M. Kapp lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, writing late into the night in his man-cave.
The Pardoner was a finalist in our Annual Drabble contest to capture the year that was 2025 in 100 words.