Exploited Hand

“Stage right!”
All John wanted was to help his son with his debut theater performance. Somehow that translated into building a stage…in a blizzard.
“Where?” John asked. “I don’t know anything about theater.”
“Over there, guy.” The director pointed to his left.
The pain in John’s shoulder sang as he lowered the wood.
“Go get the rest, guy.”
John’s teeth clenched, the vein on his forehead throbbing each time the director spoke.
“Guy, we don’t have all day.”
John kicked up snow as he spun on his heel; he had enough. His body felt hot despite the cold and he growled as he eyed the man. “I have a name!”

The lone protester

Photo Credit: Dan Phiffer via CC.


Written for last week’s Micro Bookend’s – where they supply the first and last word and you fill in the rest.

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