Every Wednesday from now until the end of the world, or the blog, I’m going to post a random bit of writing: a rhyme, something from an old folder or a work in progress, or if all else fails whatever random thing I scribbled down during the free-write warm up of my Tuesday Night Writers Club.
‘Tis the season of either dewy-eyed generosity or blind, filthy greed, depending on your level of cynicism (and, if you’re mired in the past, maybe there’s a minor religious aspect to it too).
My ongoing gift to you: third in a series of five drabbles – 100 word “stories” – which in this case will add up to so much more…
NO STONES TO THROW
The Mime capers and gurns, gesticulating with elaborate precision. It’s a plan of rare cunning. Wielding an invisible knife, the Mayor will never see the death blow coming.
Victory at hand, The Mime turns to leave. Trapped and forced to wear this ridiculous getup, I want to scream after him, but I don’t. I won’t give him the silent satisfaction, damnit. Only one thing stops me hammering on the wall for release: that it’d make me as bad as him.
It’s down to me to save the day – again. But how do you escape from a box you can’t touch?