Prisoners - flash fiction

'Oiy! I'm bleedin ungry in ere. Don't just shut da bleedin door on me.'

'Hitting the bars will avail you little.'

'Bleedin town guard need ta learn some manners, lockin a hard workin man up without supper. An these blankets aren't gunna keep us warm. Sodden near winter it is.'

'Our comfort is low on their list of concerns, my friend.'

'You'd think I'd killed someone, way those bleedin lugs reacted. All I did was liberate some silver from a sodden noble who had plenty to spare anyway. Next minute, I's got a squad a guards around me and a bleedin sword at my neck.'

'They practically violated your civil rights.'

'Hey yeah. Damn right dey did. Innocent until proven guilty an all that, hey?'

'And they just threw you in this dank, rat-infested cell with me.'

'Bleedin right you are. Aint right, throwing blokes in ere.'

'I'm sure the magistrate will give all due compensation when you tell him this at your hearing. He seemed like a reasonable fellow to me.'

'Yeah, bleedin right I'll tell im! Wait, you already had a trial or somethin?'

'Indeed.'

'An ya still ere?'

'Alas, the dear magistrate decided death was to be my fate.'

'Death! Bleedin hell; aint right that.'

'It is the powerful that decide what is right and wrong in this world, my friend. And it takes money to buy power.'

'Exactly. Bloke I was takin from had plenty. Seemed only fair he shared with someone like me, ya know?'

'I understand completely, and yet, here we are.'

'Maybe we should escape. Break out, ya know? Erd bout a guy over near South Hodges that's startin some kinda guild or something for blokes like us.'

'If only it could be so, my friend. Yet the bars will not budge even to our combined strength, and there is no window to lessen the darkness.'

'Yeah, think yer right. Can head da guards comin back, maybe we can jump em or somethin?'

'That's a whole squad coming.'

'How'd ya bleedin know that?'

'Too loud for anything else, my friend. Besides, it's about the time the magistrate set, by my reckoning.'

'Back from the door, scum!'

'Bleedin hell, no need ta shout at us.'

'Reaper’s hour is here for you, filth.'

'Death sentence's bit rough, don't cha think?'

'Death's too good for this scum.'

'Gentle wit im, bleedin hell! Bloke just tried ta make a livin.'

'Seriously? Do you know who that was?'

'No need to slam the door. He's just a thief, right? You's lugs are too harsh on us blokes.'

'A thief? That there was the Rorston Kiddy Killer.'

'What?'

'I guess you have heard of him, and probably what he did to them before he killed them too.'

'Make sure his bleedin deaths slow. Make it hurt. I hope his soul burns!'