Hi folks, back again for another stab at making a worthwhile contribution to the melange of prose that is the Friday Fictioneers. 100 words or thereabouts based on a photo prompt, all ably organised by the indefatigable Rochelle.
A Tale of Conquest
Ask any elite performer – retirement sucks.
When you’re forced out at the top of your game, you inevitably feel unfulfilled. Regardless of fame, there’s always the sense of never having finished your career if you miss out on The Big One. When I stood there and watched as my three brothers galloped away into the distance, it was just gut-wrenching. But what’s a horse to do?
So here I stand, brilliant white coat faded to grey, dreaming of what might have been.
Oh, by the way, my original name was Conquest, but you might know me better as Pestilence.
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Authors Note: According to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s excellent book Good Omens, Pestilence was forced into retirement in 1936 after the invention of penicillin, and was replaced by Pollution.