100-Word Fiction: ‘In the House’

They do not listen to me and I do not care. They shout amongst themselves, deaf to pleas of order, order. I have a plan. They know but hardly share their thoughts. They only vainly oppose, and meek protestations coalesce into a sticky goo. I laugh, send deputations of sneering divisiveness: a ploy. Do my bidding, go on. They dance their merry dance even as the weight of disapproval comes, swinging low, the murmurs turn angry. But noise means nothing. It fades. I do not listen. I walk out of the door. I can’t hear you. I can’t hear you.

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Author: MW Bewick

Writer of poetry and place; editor and journalist. Co-founder of Dunlin Press. 'Scarecrow', a debut collection of poetry is available now from http://dunlinpress.bigcartel.com

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