And Suddenly the Door Began to Melt Against the Brass Frame – Dead Deer

And suddenly the frame started to melt against the brass door. Who even has a brass door? Lord Grimley, that’s who. Not content with the Rolls Royce, nor the private helicopter he felt the need to display his obscene wealth even behind closed doors. Gold taps on his bath. Solid gold. How can that possiblly enrich the bathing experience? Lord Grimley preferred a shower anyway.

Yes, of course, a solid gold shower head.

How can a few blockbuster novels translate into this unending well of cash? Well all the film deals, multi-million pounds each now. Each one generating yet more sales of the breathless action-packed novels. Getting a big percentage on all tie-ins a merchandise was one of the best things he had done too. Plus all that property. He still owned the flat he bought after his first novel did OK. Sentimental. And it still brings in a tiny pittance of a drop of money every month, he assumed. The tenants struggled, really struggled, to find this money every month. They often had to forego food towards the end of the month, telling the kids that they were on a diet. No hope of buying luxuries of any sort they always had to get the latest Grimley out of the library. Before it closed down a couple of years back.

Chances were around seventy percent that if you rented a flat in his old northern home town he was ultimately your landlord, through a series of off-shore businesses. These simultaneously avoided tax and bad publicity by distancing him from the awful state and high rents of these old buildings.

Nowadays of course it was the huge luxury developments that made him the real money. Dubai, New York, London. Luxury flats such as the penthouse he was in now in Dubai, with the gold lifts and his Italian sports car parked in the flat (a special lift transporting it there) allowing him to marvel at it’s sleek lines and at himself.

But now the frame was melting. He called a number. “What the hell is going on?”. But the gold phone also started to melt. He looked around, everything began to melt. He began to panic, up there, alone surrounded by his own vanity on the one hundred and sixtieth floor. He held his hand up in front of his face. The fingers began to melt in front of him.

Today I wrote from 16:07 to 16:08. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

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