Hello folks and fellow Corona captives, there’s more than a faint hope that Rochelle can drag us out of our Fug with some fabulous Friday Fictioneering, alliteration seemed to work in the absence of precious little else happening here in the Kingdom of Shrawley (look it up). Thanks also to CEAyr for providing the inspiration, it must be amazing to see what tales materialise from a humble photograph. At present I have no idea, so let’s see what I can rustle up.
On My Marks…
Jaques’ last chance and desperate as he was, it was a lot of money for a tatty old picture.
A real Magic Eye picture, is what the man in the trench coat told him plucking and counting the money, instructing him to plug it into the power outlet behind the bins at Farmfoods.
He had something to show her,
“Paris”, he’d said. “Pack a Portmanteau” he’d giggled.
Rushing down the street to stop in an alley outside Farmfoods, he showed her and elaborated.
She’d always wanted to go to Paris; she’d go with someone else another time.
“You Fucking Moron”
100 words on the nose, not my best but I’ve got to make soup, its not like i’ve any time on my hands. Hope you enjoy.