And Now For Something Completely Different

Today's Writing Prompt: mileway

"A measure of time [to walk one mile]; the third part of an hour, or twenty minutes. [Whitney] Five of th[e]se degrees maken a mileway, and three mileway maken an howre. [Chaucer, Astrolabe Treatise]" (Kacirk 122)

***

"How long will you be gone?"

Frances paused in the doorway to frown back upon the speaker, a very unhappy young Erika. "Only a mileway or two. Do you think you can manage for that long without me?"

Two-thirds of an hour didn't usually seem very long, but under the circumstances it felt like an eternity. "What do I do if he wakes up before you get back?" Erika asked.

A faintly perturbed expression crossed Frances's kindly old face. "Hit him across the head again, if you don't want to deal with him. Otherwise, nothing. He's tied up quite securely; I assure you he won't be getting free of those ropes any time soon."

No, there was no fear of that, Erika thought as she eyed the thick, heavy knots that kept their unconscious captive bound to his chair.

"Really, he shouldn't give you any trouble," Frances continued. "He might not even wake up before I get back, but I must go. If I don't at least make an appearance, they'll all wonder why I'm not there, and then we'll have who-knows-who prowling around here asking questions. And that would be disastrous, my dear."

Far more disastrous than the captive waking up while Frances was gone, Erika mentally agreed. "Yes. You'd better be on your way," she said aloud. "I'll be all right here until you get back."

"There's a good girl," said Frances, and she shut the door tightly behind her.

In the ensuing silence, Erika surveyed their sleeping guest and the otherwise lifeless room. Then, she picked up the wooden bat in the corner to try its weight. Frances usually dealt with that object, but Erika thought she could manage knocking someone over the head with it well enough. She only hoped she didn't have to.

"Just stay asleep," she told the captive man. He made no response, of course, and she settled into a chair of her own to wait. The sooner Frances returned, the sooner they could get this whole business sorted out.

***

In some ways, I like random writing prompts. In others, I find them vexing. Who, for example, is Frances, and who is Erika? What is their relationship to one another? Who is the man, and why is he tied to a chair? Is he a good guy? a bad guy? a hapless burglar? Is there some sort of giant misunderstanding that landed him in the clutches of these two ladies? Are they really ladies or do they have a more questionable background? Are they the criminals? What was the event Frances had to attend? Who would have asked questions if she hadn't? What sort of time and world do they live in? Is there any supernatural element at play here?

Answer to all of the above: I don't know.

That's the problem with writing prompts. So many questions left unanswered.

***


Works Cited

Kacirk, Jeffrey (2000). The Word Museum: the most remarkable English words ever forgotten. New York: Touchstone.