Flash! Fiction 3 by Peter McMillan - HTML preview

115

Oi. Least you come off looking sort of respectable. I mean people pity you. I'd settle for that. Just look at this face. This unibrow. Who you think's gonna give me a role as some super smart scientist or even an office worker or somethin like that? Or who's gonna let me get the girl—the good looking one, not the one that looks like my sister? Nobody. Cause of the writer I got these looks and nothing I can do.

So, why are we sittin round complaining? Let's get the bastard?

Thanks to him, I got dementia, and boy, wouldn't I like to give him a piece of my mind.

Thought you said you lost your mind, old man?

No, you cheeky little snot, but how'd you like to lose those last couple of teeth?

Hey. Easy. Everybody listen up. This isn't the way to settle our grievances. We gotta keep our eyes on the road—

Oi. You mean, 'ball,' don't you stupid?

If I'd meant 'ball,' I'd have said 'ball.' It's a mixed metaphor, and

'stupid' is not a word for you to use, it's a word for others to use when talking to or about you.

Who the f—

Quiet! Hear that? He's back, and he's watching us.

Let's do it! It's now or never. Get him!

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