‘Did you listen?’
‘Afternoon, George.’
‘Well?’
‘I did.’
‘Told you it would happen.’
‘You did that.’
‘Been too soft on ’em. Chamberlain’s always been weak.’
‘Usual?’
‘Suppose.’
‘How Vera take it?’
‘Went to church.’
‘Won’t be the only one.’
‘Prayers won’t help. Hell bent on revenge that one.’
‘He’s mad.’
‘They all are, following him. Least some of them had their own mind last time.’
‘Won’t be like last time, that’s what they’re saying.’
‘Who are?’
‘People.’
‘Won’t argue with them. Wish they were wrong … but I can’t see it.’
‘Your James will be excited.’
‘So were we … look where that got us.’
‘He eighteen yet?’
‘Month back.’
‘Oh.’
‘I know what’ll he say.’
‘You joined up.’
‘Aye … you joined up.’
‘Doesn’t seem right.’
‘None of this is right.’
‘Maybe they won’t need him.’
‘They needed us, didn’t they?’
‘Could tell him what it’s like.’
‘Not if I can help it.’
‘Better get praying then.’
‘I’ll start with a Scotch if you don’t mind.’
‘Think I’ll join you.’
‘Be needing it for what’s coming.’
‘Better make it a double then.’
‘On the house?’
‘On the house.’
‘Good man.’
This fictional short story was written for a 50 Day Project organised by the artist Amanda Billing. I get 45 minutes to an hour (not the project’s rules, it’s just about the time I have right now) to write a story, sometime between 4.30am and 5.30am. After that, the day is no longer mine.
N.B. The sketch image for this short story was created using AI (at best, I can draw a half-decent stick man). The words are all mine.
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