Drunk

A couple of items.

First off, I apologize that I don’t yet have a running title for my Friday Fictioneers submissions, similar to those used for both my 100 Word Song and Master Class entries. It’s not that I think any less of this worthy endeavor, I just can’t seem to find one that’ll stick yet.

Secondly, when participating in these picture prompts, I typically enlarge the image and scour its contents to find my inspiration. This week was no exception, but as the damned-able word limit (coming in at 115 for a second week in a row) made it almost impossible to both tell the story and divulge who the narrator was, I’ve included instead, a small screen grab of this week’s “inspiration point.”

As always, I hope you enjoy!

Copyright-Ted Strutz

Copyright-Ted Strutz

They’re so stupid, that lot.

Day after day they come in walking, and leave crawling. Every night they sit there and lament. Lament over any number of things. How their car isn’t “sexy” enough, how their house isn’t “impressive” enough, what a pain it is to keep oneself in shape. They grumble about having too little of this, and far too much of that.

All the while, their words continue to slur, their eyes glaze, and they slowly become more a part of my world than their own.

I remain stoic, dour even. Gazing upon them while they bellyache about the very thing I will never have, freedom.

They really are stupid, that lot.

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Picture 1