Friday Fictioneers: Checkmate.

2 weeks into an abhorrent war where it seems bombing children hospitals and maternity wards is par for the course. Let’s face it Putin is a ****, i’ll spare everyone’s blushes. So lets see what I can do with Lisa Fox’ photo. Thanks Rochelle for keeping this madness going. Stay safe everyone.

On My Marks…

Get Set…


Winter persisted, the snow thawed and the green shoots of spring began to push through.

Winter was tough; longer than usual, stretching over 3 years, thousands perished but finally the tyrant had fallen. His closest aide, secretly diagnosed with inoperable brain cancer, enjoyed a fine dinner with him, French wine from the much diminished cellar, Russian Vodka.

Chess in the dark hours, the two men, aged by the ravages of sanctions, decided to call it a night. The aide, leant over to bid goodnight, and plunged the Bishop deep into the eye socket of his friend.

Twitching and bleeding, he died.

There we are, a cautionary tale, of where the world is today. Lets hope someone close to him plunges a dagger into his black heart soon.


  1. Your fury is shared by many. But as you show in your excellent fiction here, perhaps it only takes one person sufficiently motivated and strategically placed to do the deed. The chess game is a poignantly apt closing scene considering the moves we’ve been seeing on the nightly bulletins.

    Liked by 1 person

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