If you did nothing illegal, it wasn’t really stealing. The tax collector told himself this each night as he counted his coins, smiling as the gold ran between his fingers. He took enough to pay the Sheriff and then a little more.
It all happened in a flash as he rode back through Sherwood: arrows fired, the horses neighed, the soldiers ran.
He was left alone with his coins, looking into the face of the grinning outlaw.
“Time to pay the toll.”
By the time the Merry Men were done, the tax collector hadn’t a half-penny to his name.
Word Count: 99
This is for a new challenge I found, “Moral Mondays,” where the challenge is to write a fable-esque story in 100 words. I thought it sounded interesting so I gave it a go.