draliman on life

Here is my story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. The supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story, and to read this week’s other contributions, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright B. W. Beacham

The Mayor and the town manager waved as their next victim approached.

But Agent Simon Wilkins had come prepared. He’d seen what had happened to the others who’d received an invitation. They wandered around town with dead eyes, occasionally clutching their heads screaming, “No more, please, no more!” before slipping once more into a listless half-dead state.

Simon adjusted his body armour. At the small of his back was a handgun. He had antidotes to every mind and mood-altering chemical known. He’d get to the bottom of this.

“Come in, dear boy, come in!” said the mayor jovially. Simon followed the mayor into his study where the town manager was waiting.

“Please, sit down,” said the mayor. Simon steeled himself, ready for action as the manager dimmed the lights.

As night fell, Simon lurched out of the house. Tears trickled from dead eyes as he joined the other townspeople in living death. Not even his Special Forces training had prepared him for five hours of the mayor’s holiday snap slide-show, with running commentary.