Pablo couldn’t even remember the karmic twists that had brought him from an Ecuadoran coffee plantation, to this firm in New Hampshire.
He was lucky to have this job. He wasn’t lucky to have Robinson as a supervisor. If he hadn’t stopped to tell Pablo exactly how to do this project, Pablo would’ve finished it already. Wayne sure did like the sound of his own voice.
It reminded him of the corn-mills his mother had made him turn by hand as a kid – round and round, and round, and round, and nothing came out but a fine, dry, monotonous powder.
Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.
I was in fine fettle and feeling frisky last Friday. I felt it would be a fun and frivolous frolic to use my finesse and mental file full of facile facts, to fearlessly fabricate a folio featuring the letter F, to favor my many fine fans and faithful followers.
My first foray was merely a foolish façade. I found that I was a failure, a feeble fake, and felt like a fog-brained, fatuous, old fart, really full of foolish ego.
I had to flee from the feeling of frustration for failing to finish my finite little Flash Fiction feature. I felt that I had really fouled up, a facet I’d never fully faced before. At least no-one gave me the foul fickle finger of fate, and told me to F… off.
This futile alliteration function has me feeling freaky. Fear not, friends. I’m now finally free to flog a fresh foundation for the following letter, G.
I’m fully finished, and find I’m famished. I feel I should flit off and fix some filling and flavorful foreign food, for example, fajitas or frijoles. 😉