Revenge Tragedy


The shell rocked back and forth on the table.  If only it would tip over the edge and shatter, then the outcome would be decided, the revelation be at hand.  Tiny fists pummelled hard and the small shell teetered.  Then exhaustion set in.  A thousand cramped years weighed heavily, as did fifty thousand futile escape attempts.  Ridding himself of the lamp, after countless ages, he’d trapped himself inside a shell, and the genie’s fury burned harsher each day.  It grew immense, as though to compensate for his littleness.  It would erupt, engulf the world.  If only that shell would tip…


This piece of flash fiction was written for Friday Fictioneers: a story in 100 words prompted by a picture that Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts every Wednesday.  Here’s the link to the stories and this week’s picture is at the top of this post, copyright copyright Douglas MacIlroy.