This is a 100-word story, with the topic from last week’s Weekly Challenge… “Howl at the moon, I demand a recount, The fencing master, Matzo tower, The end is near.” I’m not actually *in* the weekly challenge – I didn’t get this recorded in time to submit it. But I happened to see the mash of topics and said, “Wow, that’s a challenge.” So here it is.
He towered, skin like soggy matzo, hulking over the swarthy man; an oxycontin-fueled mass of rage.
“That’s wrong! Count the ballots again!” he shouted into the night sky, shaking a meaty fist at the uncaring moon. “I have millions of listeners, agreeing with my every word! I am the voice of real America!” He pointed again at the swarthy swordsman leaning against the wall. “This will be the end of America! People like this Spaniard more than me? Inconceivable!”
“That word,” the swarthy man said, “you keep saying it. I do not think it means what you think it means.”