Memories come unbidden in percussive flashes.
Red light blooms in an optic flood behind dehydrated eyelids. Tom's neck itches.
In the blinding light a man is standing. The pose says authority, the gun on his hip is unnecessary. The running is done.
"Your sentence ..." the man begins. The only word that matters is treason. Tom shuts his eyes.
On his right, something creaks - something long unused.
There is just one crime left here that warrants death.
This is my 100 word entry into this weeks "Friday Prediction" at Lily Childs' Feardom. The prompt words were: "optic", "treason", and "pose". What can you do with these? You have until Thursday at 9 p.m. (UK Time). Give it a go!