© C E Ayr
It was early evening, and Duncan myself had been drinking since the pubs had opened that morning. We had been celebrating because today was Duncan’s birthday and he was finally allowed to have a drink legally.
Staggering home, we had to go past the Windmill was in old man Barney’s field. It was right by the Windmill where Duncan tripped over nothing at all. Naturally, we both had a bit of a giggle about this before ending up sitting on the floor looking at this thing.
“You know, I have always wanted to try that thing happens in cartoons.” Duncan turned to look at my blank expression. He sighed; “you know, that thing where the sails pick up a person and carry them around full circle.”
“Oh, that thing. Well, what harm could it possibly do?”
Of course, that was the question I was always going to regret. Drunkenly, Duncan started towards the Windmill holding up the back of his shirt. The sail came round and picked him up making us cheer. The cheer died away when he reached the top, and the sail turned downwards, so the shirt slid away dropping Duncan to his death.
Apparently, plenty of harm.
Written for Sunday photo fiction