Friday Fictioneers is hosted by the wonderful Rochelle, the undisputed master of what I call Sound Bite Fiction.
She sets the weekly challenge, and the standard.
Today’s incomprehensible (to me) photo by Mary Shipman (thank you, Mary) took me down a strange road.
But a familiar one, some might think.
I ask for your continued patience for my lack of involvement, still typing one-fingered with my wrist at a slightly unnatural angle.
Tomorrow I go for an IRM, as an MRI is called here in France.
The idea, as always, is to write a story of around 100 words based on the picture, below.
I am not sure if murder is ever justified.
It is, after all, a pretty extreme response.
But this guy really bugs me.
I detest his supporters, his collaborators, his mindless admirers, almost as much.
But I can’t kill them all, can I?
Maybe I should try.
But I start with him.
He is so smug, so self-satisfied, so sure that he is smarter than the rest of us.
I think he is no more than a conman.
So I drag him from his bed.
And, while he is still conscious, I pickle him in formaldehyde.
I hate installation art.