Elizabeth

Black rain, grey waters, but the blood still runs red.

I’ve really enjoyed following the work of Labyrinthia Mythweaver, and her prompt challenges. The latest grabbed me immediately!

Here’s my submission! Hope y’all enjoy it!

Highly recommend listening to the audio narration created by Suno as you read along!

They call her Elizabeth.
Slipping through the shadows.
Waltzing.

She walks
with a confidence
that unnerves insecure men.
But leaves them
breathless.

An alley.
Hands crossing.
Something exchanged.

She walks with a knowing.
Her gait quickens.
But still sure.

She finds herself in the rain.
Dull drips
on darkened street lamps.
But her confidence
remains.

Her black dress
framing the night air
like a raven.
Her scarf
like black feathered wings.
Helping her take flight
into the night
she continues.

One.
Then two.
Then three approach.

Silken fedoras glistening.
They look at her with intent.
“You have something.”
The leader says.
Broad shoulders.
But soft.
The Tommy handles it for him.

She looks coy.
Strangers
always find her less.
Especially men with Tommys.

She smiles.
Without a word.

She sprints into the night.
They follow.
But she knows the path.

Three knocks
and it opens.
“The Alley Cat”
welcomes their next patron.

“What’ll it be?”
Says the bartender.
Slender as a railroad tie.
But wisened.

“A Camel
and a twisted martini.”
She says firm but polite.

Smoke.
Fills the air
as she inhales courage.

The door.
Swings open.
The men spread.

Music droning
low and slow
like a death song.
Pushing through the crowd.
She turns
her black haired head away.

One of them approaches...

“For him.”

Red is splattered across the bar.
Dripping.
From the knife.
Still in her hand.
The slit is clean.
But death
will still find him.

She darts.
Into a booth she knows well.
Crowd screaming.

She smiles.
“Good distraction.”
Tossing the wig.
Silvered hair beaming.
Lips fiery red
do the work
of concealment.
She blends into the crowd.

.45 close.
Discretion
is now a luxury.
She leaves through the back door.
A man is waiting.
Unconcerned about the rain.
And the red.

“You have it?”
She hands it over slowly.
A small envelope.
“Evidence.”
Stamped upon it.

“Now.”

She says firmly.

“Free my son.”

---

All Lyrics and Voice are by the artist Mitch Francese

© Mitch Francese 2026. All rights reserved.