Friday, 19 August 2016

The Game
PHOTO PROMPT © Janet Webb
                                                                                               Photo prompt © janet webb
 ‘Grandpa, that’s not possible? You never got stung?’
‘Only once; I recall that day vividly. A wasp had landed on my reading table. I pounced on it with a handkerchief in my hand and caught it. Very carefully and cleverly I exposed its tail. I used my right thumb and first finger like a pincer to pluck wasp’s sting. But before I could reach its sting, it stung me. Terrified, I released it. Soon my hand was swollen; the pain was unbearable.’
‘Your mama?’
‘She thrashed me. She disliked this game of tying strings to wasps’ legs.’
The kid laughed; he loved this part of the story.
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A post for FridayFictioneers on a photo prompt. The post is partly inspired by a childhood incident.

Word count 107

14 comments:

  1. I remember the daring used to play such games. Very nice take on this one.

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  2. Dear Arora,

    I don't blame mama for being upset. It sounds like a dangerous game.

    Shalom,

    Rochelle

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  3. Ouch... I guess there is a price to pay for being bold... (or bold is close to stupid)

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  4. I'm with Mama. Not a good game, but an appealing little story - partly true you say? Youch.

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    Replies
    1. i tried to follow some of my school mates and got badly stung

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  5. I think he got what he deserved. What a cruel thing to do, picking the wasp's sting. Good story.

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  6. First time here. Enjoyed this tiny story. :)

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