Its that time of the week again, and if you’re reading this you can probably guess what time of the week this is; that’s right its FF time. Every week our glorious leader, Rochelle, invites us, who can never leave, to write a story with a beginning a middle and an end, but not necessarily in that order, inspired by a picture of her choosing, usually from someone in the gang; today supplied by Na’ama Yehuda and occasionally by her self. It can’t be any more than 100 words, but it can be less.
I used to write bastardised children’s stories, i’m having a purple patch right now, and never know what i’m going to write until I write it. I’ve always plans to get it done sooner and maybe get in the top 20 fastest, but you American’s have a head start on me, or you’re all time travellers or something. Anyway, i reckon i’ll sleep on this one tonight, all i’ve got is Base level politicians running round in my head, this will not do.
On My Marks…
The trees were plastic, no-one was fooling anyone. Ever since the old power station had been re-comissioned, the rain had fallen; acidic and caustic, cutting through the vinyl umbrellas.
And it always rained,
“Too much water in the water cycle”, a government fantasist had said lazily on a radio phone in, whilst cavorting with some Sexbots; it was like the real thing and beat offal in a jam jar.
No one understood why they queued for nostalgic silk feel umbrellas at the umbrella wholesaler; the plastic dissolved, the gutters ran rainbow coloured full of acidic micro-beads and the planet choked.
A cautionary tale no less, and 100 words on the nose, stay inside people the world is going to hell in a Hi-Viz plastic Wheelbarrow!