for Sunday Photo Fiction which is hosted by Donna McNicol
Try as you might sir, we are not fooled by your guise. ‘Tis you, as certain as ’tis day. For ‘twas you that laid the straw, that strewed the combustive liquid. You that set the fire this Spring past, was it not, sir? Was…it…not?
Poor Ned still bears the scars of that dreadful day. Though smitten by your jagged rock then gagged and bound, he writhed free. Champion though he be, he had not the means to quench the gambolling flames that cruelly robbed him of his dwelling place, his wife, and his beloved offspring.
You imagined we would not discern you, sir, did you not? How wrong could you have been? For you, despicable sir, the nethermost depths of your repugnant basket are reached. ‘Tis I who will strike the final blow, sir, ’tis I.
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This week’s photo…