Her Hero – Dead Deer

Today I wrote from 12:58 to 13:08. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

Tall, lanky maybe. Skinny certainly, but without any discernible presence. Entering a room full of people he would be unnoticed, even a room of one. Hell, he wouldn’t cause a stir even entering an empty room. If you happened to notice him at all your first thought would be of that old cruel line of Churchill’s regarding the charisma of a political opponent: “An empty cab drew up and out got Clement Atlee.”

Grey, annoyingly coiffured hair with an really stupid little upturn at the front. Long and slow is the voice, with nothing to say. Slightly accented with a catch to try and impress the false idea of thoughtfulness, maybe a hint that he wants to be thought self-effacing. In reality he has nothing of interest to say, and is actually rather pleased with himself.

Yes that is very clear. Rather than facing himself and seeing the weak and embarrassing fool there he somehow believes that he is assured, interesting, knowledgeable. Never has an original thought troubled his unfunctioning mind, a standard off-the-shelf view dressed up as insight, one of the clearest indicators of that type of English person; self important and ignorant.

A waste of skin, destroying things that belong not to him, dull, obvious, English, old and pointless.

And her hero? Give me a break.

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