Ficlets

Shooting Range

“Run, Winston, run!” a man in a suit ran after his butler, his glasses askew and a single pocket watch hanging haphazardly out of his suit’s pocket.

“Sir, I’m going as fast as I can!” Winston said, looking back towards his employer, whilst balancing a tray precariously loaded with crystal glasses.

“Winston,” the man huffed, making his mustache flap about, “Do you understand that my wife will be here in half an hour?”
“I understand perfectly, sir, but—”
“Do you also understand that she can kill a man at four paces with that lethal umbrella of hers?” the poor man was now looking at his watch, snapping it open and closed in time with the ticks of the clock’s hand.
“Do not get so nervous, sir, the doctor said -” Winston was cut off again.

“Oh, dash what the doctor said!”
“But – “

Ding, Dong!

Winston’s employer paled considerably.

“It can’t be!”

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