Friday Fictioneers: The Dictator’s Wife

Missed last week, which isn’t uncommon nor unusual, but thank the stars that the FF corner of the web is still here, and is still held together by the superb Rochelle. I was worried for a second there. but according to the rules there is a photo provided also by Rochelle (keeping it in house) which us participants must write a piece in 100 words or less Wirth a beginning, a middle and sometimes even an ending, kets hope I get that far..

On My Marks…

Get Set…


From the Centre Circle on the Revolving circular platform and surrounded by people smaller than himself stood the Dictator.

Himself on a second tier, coated with a rainbow of medallics and flanked with films of tanks, fighter-jets and an actual missile reaching phallically skywards.

Fireworks escalated and exploded to the beat of some Cold-War military pomp.

A TV studio; guarded, crucially over the border, sat the Wife of the Dictator. She took a large glug of Beaujolais, pulled on a Marlboro and exhaled long.

The stadium screen flickered, the war vanished and there sat the Tyrants Wife.

A Nervous Hush Decended.

There we are, 100 words on the nose of how I think Putin can be brought down, publicly embarrassed and discredited for all the lies and propaganda he’s been selling to the Russians for Decades. He must go.


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