Flash fiction -1
Friday, 08 February 2019
What do I do now? He’s flat on his back, sweat pouring off him, looking like he’s going to die. I told him to check his boots before putting them on but he was a complete arse and didn’t listen. Being a man of a certain age, he was probably in a rush to get out of the tent for his morning pee. Now he’s going to die.
I regard the scorpion I'd flattened with my boot. I feel slightly remorseful for killing it.
But what do I do now? If a client dies, I’m sure to lose my job.