Sheila understood. Finally.
She imagined how dear Robert and his mousy Molly had laughed behind her back and now she’d been stranded, humiliated and alone.
It was just a play with her acting the jester.
She watched as they went to bed. As Robert nibbled Molly’s earlobes she remembered that tickling sensation, phantom-pains for a lost limb.
She waited until all was dark before she started to pouring gallons of gasoline into the flowerbeds.
The reek of smoke would cling her clothes.
She would be caught.
It was better being a villain than a jester she thought, lighting a match.
It has been a while since I last wrote for Friday Fictioneers. It has been very intense at work so I have missed out a great deal. But now I’m back.
Friday Fictioneers is a great community where Rochelle gives us a picture and keeps us all under control and make sure we stick to the 100-word rule… If it is one thing that improves your writing it is sticking to restrictions I think. If you want to Join visit Rochelle’s site for more instructions. If you prefer just to just read other stories click on the froggy below.