Drabble 151 – Flatulopetic

John Collier's "A Glass of Wine with Caesar Borgia," depicting Cesare and Lucrezia Borgias next to Pope Alexander. Cesare and Pope Alexander are seated, while Lucrezia stands.
John Collier

Lucrezia Borgia probably wasn’t a poisoner. It’s a myth that persisted through the ages, likely because the Borgia family had many enemies who benefitted from spreading rumors about them. And despite the common “poison is a woman’s weapon,” refrain, most poisoners are men.

But the myths persist. Lucrezia murdered her family’s way to power thanks to a ring containing foxglove or arsenic, it’s said, despite there being no evidence that such a thing ever happened.

For some reason, I was disappointed to learn that it wasn’t true, that she was just another victim (likely not innocent, but a victim nonetheless) of rumor.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.


(a.) from Latin flato—”blowing”—and Greek -poietic—”creation”

To speak in a pompous, pretentious manner, or gas created in the bowels.

She will die for this.

Still, her hands are steady, her smile sure. They’ll know it was her when his mouth begins to foam, his limbs to tremble. His face will turn pale with shock as he feels his guts rebel, certain it’s just a rumbling in the belly from overindulgence, not the consequences of a thousand words that cut and kill as surely as knives.

He’ll taste nothing beneath the sweetness of the wine and the intoxication of his speeches. He hasn’t tasted anything for months, now—he’s always speaking, inciting, bloviating.

She hopes she’ll hear his last gurgled word.

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