Friday Fictioneers: Death of the Dendrologist

Like an arrhythmia I’m struggling to produce regular content, but thanks to Rochelle at least I’ve a chance to redeem myself and get back into step with the FF, the aim? 100 words with a beginning, a middle and an end, one of those or none and not always in that order, lets face it, its a free for all; pile on!

Todays photo is supplied by Sandra Crook, thinking caps on… 

On My Marks…

Get Set…

GO!!!

If he should have avoided anything it was probably that Amanita Virosa (Destroying Angel) with thousand island dressing on his wild garlic, dandelion and chickweed salad.

Being a Dendrologist was pretty safe,  “forest bathing” was good for the soul;  Canopy Disentanglement phenomena fascinated him. Why would so many species avoid each other in the canopy, a fractured jigsaw of circumspection.  

He began to choke, mouth foaming, the like of which he’d never experience again,

“this would look good on a ‘Michelin’ dinner plate”

he realised…

“Of Course… They love each other”

Then he died.

There we are, a 100 words on the wasted life of a dendrologist, enjoy

31 comments

  1. This was brilliant, Sir Shrawls! Sucks to be him, unfortunately… so much for being a specialist – mind you, I suspect a ‘shroom specialist would have recognized that nefarious addition..

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  2. My mom took a mushroom class when I was about ten years old. Our family went up into the Rocky Mountains on a mushroom hunt. When we got home she threw all the shrooms away because she wasn’t sure they were safe. Thank you for your story that brought up the memory.

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