AnElephantCant walk through that door
He sees it is half way up a wall
He can’t fly he can’t jump
He lands with a terrible bump
For some reason there are no stairs at all
Once again it is Friday Fictioneer time.
Our Princess de la Porte Rochelle opens up a plethora of possibilities to perceptive pedants who practice poetic perfectionism.
And AnElephant tries to squeeze through.
The idea is to write a very short story, circa 100 words, based on this picture prompt (below).
Make sure he knows why you are killing him.
I nod my head, still counting the notes.
You remember what you have to say, he asks for the third time.
I nod again.
I will take care of it, I say patiently.
Good man, they told me you are the best, he enthuses.
He almost pats my shoulder, thinks better of it.
Don’t contact me again, I say, pocketing the photograph.
And you won’t forget….
His voice trails off as I leave.
I knock on the door.
It is opened by the face I have memorised.
I shoot him twice in the chest, wordlessly.
If you want a message delivered, I think, hire a postman.