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 clever photo makes me think that Al is a really smart cookie!
And his technical jargon provides me with a second link to my story.
Thanks also, Al, for explaining my situation.
I apologise to everyone for my lack of response, but I have had, for some weeks now, a trapped or damaged nerve somewhere on my right arm/shoulder/back which leaves my hand almost paralysed.
I type now with one finger and my hand at an extreme angle, not pleasant, but almost funny!
I am still undergoing tests, seeing specialists and doing physiotherapy.
My thanks to those who still visit and comment.
Click on this link to enter your tale, and to see what others have written.
She has a figure that stops traffic.
I know she has always worked hard to keep it that way, it is a major asset in our line of work.
I hear she wants to retire, but has one last contract to fulfil.
When she calls me, I wonder.
I adore her, I confess, and I know she has strong feelings for me too.
I was her mentor, taught her most of what she knows.
She was a fast learner, a natural.
We always found each other attractive, but we stayed professional.
In this business, if you don’t you are dead.
My last job was a fiasco, that I took the blame for.
The intelligence supplied by the client via my employers was horribly flawed, but it was my finger on the trigger.
So I wonder.
Am I her target, or is she just saying goodbye?
She appears at my door in classic Private Eye attire, trench coat and fedora.
I show her the gun in my hand.
She smiles and shrugs.
Her left hand slowly unfastens her belt, her right hand is in her pocket.
The coat falls open.
She is wearing black stockings.
I shoot her in her beautiful chest.
She stares up at me in disbelief.
I check her pockets.
They are empty.