“Will no one stand for the accused?”
Silence spread through the crowd.
Some looked out windows or at the wooden floor. Others sat up straighter, a look of superiority lighting their faces and dancing in their eyes.
All held roses. Each clutching one white and one red flower. Petal after petal was raised in the air. Red. Red. Another red.
The large, bearded man overseeing the trial did not act surprised. “The accused will be hanged,” he said blandly, “tomorrow at noon.”
When the villagers walked to the square the next morning, one white rose rested on the gallows.
June 3 Prompt: Roses (In 99 words – no more, no less – write a story that includes a rose)