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100 words long. Not a word more, not a word less.
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Pointing Fingers by Giles Ward
‘Is GOD DEAD?’ your crappy board wants to know. I stare at you bemused, annoyed, angry, scoffing. How should I know? ‘We want to HOLD HANDS, not point FINGERS’, it says in poster paint scrawl underneath, like you’ve forgotten your own question and you are pointing your finger at me – straight down my throat. Like I killed the Man. “Well,” I demand, putting my hand up to silence the babbling from your mouth, “Is He?” And you, you say something that throws me. You say, “I’m not really sure.” And that does it. That answers it for me. I know.
The SHORT TALE 100 – SEPTEMBER 2016