What’s it worth to ya?

If it is the right recipient reading this, then you know exactly what it is that is now in our possession. You should, at any rate. Not much of a parent if you need it spelt out. Then again, had you been much of a parent then you would not have breezily sashayed into this predicament; either you lack the requisite intelligence to protect your young, or have not the slightest consideration for said offspring. Since we are not mind-readers (heavens no, we have foolishly divulged our one weakness!), we cannot be certain of which malady you may be suffering – stupidity or fecklessness. Be that as it may, it does serve to leave us in what could accurately be described as a pickle. What sum should we demand when the value you place upon those closest to you – biologically, at least – is so unclear?

Therefore, we shall – with no little trepidation and some considerably generosity, if we may be so immodest as to say so – leave this estimate up to your esteemed powers of calculation. Whatever price you wish to pay in order to see your seized spawn alive again, deposit it in the cistern of toilet 451 in the North Bank of the Arsenal stadium at half-time in this weekend’s scheduled sporting contest. Fair warning, however; if the amount is too little, we will know. If, indeed, it is too much, we will know.

In either scenario, the consequences will be…inedible.

Is mise,

A. Kara

Solidarity, brothers & sisters…

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About Seba Roux

Gooner, Socialist, Historian, Slacker. That's pretty much all you need to know.
This entry was posted in Short Stories and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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