Every Friday, Rochelle sends a prompt pic to over a hundred writers who then produce 100 words of fiction each. This week’s pic is one of her own:
And my 100 words are…
There had been rumours since the election that his trademark honesty was a conceit. Money changed hands, people said, for political promotions, for private favours, for public contracts, in deals done on the back stairs of an office block in his home town.
I waited there, hidden below the stairs, for my chance to end it, to finish him.
On the third day I heard his unmistakable voice, its commanding strength evident despite his uncharacteristic whispers.
The weapon for such an important assignment was surprisingly light as I held it before me. He was in my sights.
I pressed record.