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Fictionlet

“Oh, no,” said Greg. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?” said Brigid.

“Look at the seating arrangements. I’m going to be wedged between Treville and Uncle Bob for the whole bloody reception!”

“It’s only a couple of hours,” said Brigid.

“Ugh,” said Greg. “Just shoot me.”

“I thought you’d never ask!” said Brigid, producing a 9mm automatic from her coat pocket.

“What?” Greg managed to say, before she shot him dead on the spot.

THE END

<-- previous B&G

Originally published at gneech.com. You can comment here or there.

Comments

radbaron
Apr. 1st, 2011 08:23 pm (UTC)
Alas, poor Greg. He was of the wrong calibre.

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