Friday Fictioneers: Terminus.

Morning folks, and a particular thanks to Rochelle for keeping this going during these unbelievably tough times; a chink of welcome light and warmth in these dark and cold days in North Clifton, imprisoned in plain sight by the rotten plague and incompetence from the people in charge, thanks also to Alicia Jamtaas for a great photo, I slept on this one, lets see what I can come up with today.

On My Marks…

Get Set…


Standing in the swamp, picking up one leg after another to avoid sinking too much, itching the blood topped Malaria welts, naked save for a filthy pair of threadbare Farah’s.

He looked up.

For weeks he’d been squelching in circles, sinking deeper each time, talking to himself and craning his next towards every clearing, trying to understand where he had fallen, how he had got into this appalling situation.

Whiskey had, then hadn’t helped, it’s where the lines started to buckle, the terminal meeting with his boss had nailed it, stranded at the end of the line, his ticket punched.

Well here we have it, a tale for today, a man lost to alcohol, the plague, unemployment and despair, 100 words on the nose, this shit better finish soon, i need to cheer up!!


  1. They don’t begin inoculating until March. It was mentioned that Europe would not let us have the vaccine because of Brexit? Then there was a disclaimer as we saw the first crates on the docks on its way here. Go figure.


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