eShops Fables – Futility

If only it hadn’t happened – the telephone ringing – three times.
Oh, the futility of it all.
But isn’t it all futility in the dead of night?
They’d argued – over everything, but mainly his belief she had a lover. I’d known he was in one of those moods and I’d intervened, going to their flat.
I found him in the lounge sulking – she was in the bedroom – I could hear the sobs. Well, I’d calmed him, and it would have been fine …
until the phone call.
He picked it up. Listened. A voice said:
‘Hi, hon, I’ll come round tomorrow at ten if that’s ok.’
I saw the shock on his face. I grabbed the phone – asked who the hell it was. But by then his anger had boiled again.
By the time I got into the bedroom, it was all over, her eyes staring blankly into nowhere.
Oh, the futility – especially as it was a wrong number.

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eShops Fables – Cass Nova and the Photo

 

I just knew there was a bent copper in the squad. Too many cases had gone wrong. But who was it? That was the problem. Just who could I trust?
The first problem was working out who he could be working for.
Going over the failed cases again, I soon found a common denominator – and he was a gang boss I’d wanted to get for a long time. Well, I began my own surveillance of him.
The next night I waited in my darkened flat, determined to nail the bent cop – and I’d put things in motion to guarantee I’d do so.
I was gratified when the bent sergeant broke in, not expecting me to be there.
I held up the photo. ‘I suppose this is what you’re after,’ I said.
After all, I’d told him I had a photo he may be interested in.
‘How did you know it was me?’ he asked resignedly.
‘I didn’t,’ I replied. ‘I said the same to everyone in the squad.’
He cursed as he picked up one of my latest holiday snaps.

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eShops Fables – The World’s a Stage

It feels so good to be back in a theatre. Far too many years have passed.
Maybe you remember me?
I’d often starred in London’s West End. It is true that I could be hard to work with. I’m a perfectionist, you see, and I cannot abide bad acting. It actually drove me mad.
It is a crime caper I am in – not the best of openings for my relaunched career, I must admit – and the other actors are terrible.
My cue comes.
I stand.
I approach the worst of the actors. My hands encircle his neck. The audience gasps. I squeeze.
I take my bow.
I’d escaped from the hospital yesterday and the world is now my stage. I move to the next theatre and sit in the stalls, awaiting my cue.

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