“I control you … You’re mine to do as I like. You move, you speak and it’s me that talks!”
Eyes wide, slate blue, black hair sleeked back, his face contorts in a snarl.
All around, the busy market place bustles with safe people, happy people, busy people.
A scruffy, yellow VW camper-van covered with hastily painted flowers roars by nearly catching his elbow.
He whirls around as it disappears into the traffic and yells. “Up yours!”
—————————————————————–
“I can’t understand why you watch all these TV soaps, dear,” I say.
“They’re harsh, violent and just plain unpleasant.”
Slowly. I climb upstairs to my study, turn on my computer and start to write … Gradually, I feel serene and happy again.
The End
Copyright Rob Hopcott 2007. All characters in this and other flash fiction or very short stories on this site are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person living or otherwise.
