The rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated, darlings. I’m still here, though I’ll let you in on something — I think Jessica’s trying to take over my blog. I let slip that I was finishing up the end of Volume Two of Memoirs of a Dilettante, and I think she’s taking it as an opportunity to stage a coup.
So I spoke to our lovely host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, and she said it’s perfectly safe for me to hang out here. So your favourite dilettante will live on at casa de Friday Fictioneers, so never fear. Or if you do have to fear, fear Jessica — she’s frightening.
This week’s photo comes courtesy of Doug MacIlroy, and spawned a number of story ideas in my head, but I settled on this one, because I liked the idea of two simultaneous thoughts happening at once — similar but with entirely different meanings.
Why? Because that’s how I roll, that’s fucking why, darlings. I love playing with words. Words are my Lego.
I fear it may take me a couple of days before I get around to reading, but please don’t hold that against me. I am 100% in editing mode on what will be my temporary swan song — big things coming next week, darlings, do stay tuned. So please be patient; I will be faithful.
In the meantime, read the other stories or write one of your own. The rules are spelled out on Rochelle’s page. Click the blue frog (gently, she’s an amphibian and has delicate skin) to read more stories.
Eddie held the spoon over the candle’s flame and watched the brown liquid bubble like he had a hundred times before.
How had it gone on for so long? How many times had he said to himself This is the last time? How many times had he feared that this time would be the last time, not because he had the willpower to quit, but because he shot too much; got too greedy.
He put the spike into his vein and smiled in euphoria.
This is the last time, he thought, please don’t let this be the last time.