Friday Fictioneers: Election Chaos.

Sorry i’m late to the party, i’m imagining i’ll be in the 50’s this week, next week i’ll be top 10, thats the aim! Thanks Rochelle for keeping this going while the world burns around us all, a safe sanctuary for us all. Nice photo too, multi-tasking this week. I’ll get cracking so  as usual,

On My Marks…

Get Set…


The mayor instructed the ruffians to stop the postman; to take his bag, beat him and wrap the strap round his neck strangling him. The postal votes must not count. 

Mayoral elections, were always closely contested, there only being two sides, save for that mad folk singer. 

The streets were Siesta quiet as the postman made his way into town and hurried to the Townhall, his leather satchel bulging full of spittle sealed ballot papers. 

As the votes were counted inside, the Mayor, typically pickled with Rioja, stumbled around in the dusty midday sun outside slurring, shouting,

“Stop the Count”

There we are 100 words, a long time coming, but they got there, eventually. Sorry i’m late Rochelle.


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