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An American in Paris

Updated: Feb 27, 2020

6th April 2044

“I see there’s an obituary in the Times on Donald Trump, ” Wilbur Wright said from behind his VR visor. She could see gobs of bagel sprayed on his side of it, which cast a spotty beard of shadows on his jowls.

“He’s forgotten again. That’s it then,” thought Emily as she turned away to stare at the city below. Nausea receded as a solitary tear tipped over onto her cheek.

4th June 2044

“Bye.” She heard no reply as she left and made for the lift. A troupe of bots filed silently past her and gathered at the door she had just closed on her home for 25 years. As the lift door closed she glimpsed them entering to start the removal.

A bot dropped an envelope on his hoffice desk as it passed him carrying three chairs.

Darned bots are busy today he mused. Emily arranging an anniversary surprise. Must’ve remembered for once. The Trumpire State Building address on the envelope told him it was from their lawyer. It began: Notice of Divorce.

NJE 20th February 2020

-a flash fiction entry in Malcolm’s Photo Prompt - a regular fun writing challenge from Start Writing Fiction


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