Check out my flash fiction on the theme of fear, composed specially for FVR…



He looked at the columns of his bank accounts, the minus signs glared back at him with capitalist disdain. He glanced at the columns in his Dad’s account; he held power of attorney for his finances now he was a sandwich short of a picnic, everything fat and healthy with extra dividends on top.

“He’s worked hard all his life.” He could imagine his friends telling him. But the fact of the matter was it was simply not true. Dad had inherited all his money from his father, who in turn had made his fortune via conflict diamonds. Sometimes life was like that; fuck all to do with hard work, just privilege affording privilege. They had used that money to de-fraud a group of investors in a scandal that was dubbed the “Christmas Gift Scam.”

Fear gripped his stomach, fear of being poor. Fear at what he was capable of…

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