Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge presented by my old friend Al Forbes.
The idea is to write a short story (200 word max) inspired by what you see in his picture (below).
This week’s courageous photo – full marks, Al – turns my stomach.
The vile face of bigotry, racism and fascism invariably provokes this reaction in me.
For those of you who know me as a supporter of Scottish Independence, and are confused, please feel free to write to me for an explanation:
And please note there will be no political discussion on this blog.
I will delete any comments in that vein.
Instead I write of a procession, or parade, of a different, more joyous kind.
Click on this link to enter your tale, and see what others have written.
Everybody loves a parade.
The annual flower ceremony, or Corso Fleuri, is a highlight of winter.
Here in Medville it takes place on the second Sunday in February, which this year falls on Valentine’s Day.
The floats are usually predominantly yellow, bedecked in the Mimosa for which the area is famous.
This year there is also a profusion of red, from roses, tulips and, especially, carnations to mark the romance associated with the date.
It all looks great.
Most of the participants, who represent local associations, are in costume, and masked.
I am here with the district hunting club, dressed as a French Infantry Fusilier from Napoleonic times.
Midway through the afternoon I get a call.
My wife has collapsed, fallen from the back of her vehicle.
By the time I reach the First Aid Station she is dead.
She has often talked of her allergy to bee stings, and it appears that is the cause of this tragedy.
Spring has already arrived, and butterflies, flies and even mosquitoes are plentiful.
As are, fatally, bees.
While friends try to offer words of comfort, my mind drifts to the life insurance.
And to the ingenuity of my delivery system.
Apitoxin, or bee sting poison, in an ice dart, fired from an air rifle.
Carried by just another man in a crowd.
And in disguise.