Hello again to you all, my friends, followers and countrywoman/menfolk – gather round the campfire and let me tell you a tale.

While I am waiting to see where a specific story places in this week’s competition, I’ve come up with my own story, based on a Flash Fiction prompt that I fished out of a board game that I own.

The prompt was “Hair of The Dog”, as in the drinking metaphor – of course I had to write about this, who wouldn’t given the opportunity?

So without further ado, I give you today’s story!

*Trumpet fanfare* *Standing ovation* *10, 000 thundering elephants* *Somebody turn the damn National Geographic Channel off!*

Feel free to comment below.

 

The Healing Process (by David Ellis)

Why is everything so damn foggy? Where are my glasses? Can’t remember what I was reading last night.

Damn cockroaches. I’d flatten them but this place is dirty enough as it is.

My Daddy was a Doctor. Or a fireman. Maybe a newscaster. I don’t know.

The first guess was probably right.

There’s a phrase that keeps on recurring in my mind, might be French or Greek or something –  “Similia similibus curantur” – Daddy used to use fancy words a lot, said it meant something about “Like curing like.”

I’ll drink to that.

Poison the well a little more.

Can’t remember when I last ate – might have been a hamburger, I can see the wrapper on the floor.

Can still smell the onions. Are they green? Must be at least a couple of days old. What’s wrong with me? How’d it get so bad my only friend in the world is a bottle of moonshine? But nothing shines in this dump unless it’s swimming in grease.

Another object swims into focus. There are words. A newspaper. Open on the obituaries section.

Oh Lordy, I’ve missed Daddy’s funeral! I’m a terrible son, I know I need to do better, I…..wait, what day is it today? Is it a Tuesday?

I missed his funeral over three years ago.

Guess I have been a little preoccupied lately, what with…..what was it now?

Oh yeah, Lucy Lou dying too.

I loved her. Best darn mutt there ever was.

Bottle’s almost empty now, might as well just be guzzling on tears. Seems everything I hold dear has run its course, expired, left me.

But my sister is coming over today I think – or it may be next week.

Don’t know. Don’t really care.

She’s bringing a suit, has told me to clean my act up.

“Do it for your niece!” She shrieked.

I can barely tie my own shoelaces nowadays.

Maybe I’ll just sleep here for a while.

If they turn up I’ll pretend I’m out.

Wouldn’t be the first time.