It’s been a while since I managed to get down to writing a Friday fictioneers’ piece. This one is inspired by current happenings. I’m not sure if it’s written in hope or fear or some mixture of the two.
Photograph © Dale Rogerson
‘This way, Sir.’ A command dressed up like respect. He’ll understand only half of that.
He talks. ‘Who was the architect for this place? I know a fellow-’
‘No, Sir. You don’t.’
Behind them, the sun is gone behind the barred and bolted door. So, too, the howling crowds. This new light is sepulchral, pooling on the ground. He stamps over it.
‘Do you want to pray?’
‘Yes. Everyone finds their God in the end. Some people like Him to accompany them into the darkness.’
‘Horseshit. Trump’s had this God guy’s back for long enough. He’s on his own now.’
A head shake. ‘This way, Sir.’