Chan holstered his revolver and stood up slowly. Both men watched as he came around the side of the sofa and sat down.
“Sir, my name is David Chan. I very much want to hear what happened.”
The man, surprised by this action, took a moment to speak again. Then, “My mother was right. The surveyors proved that she knew exactly what she was talking about. And the quote surveyor unquote that this fuckhead hired didn’t even have a license. Who knows how much shit the two of them had pulled together? Ripping off people right and left is my guess.”
He jabbed Stenton’s head with the barrel.
“The experience broke my mom. I wanted to sue the hell out of this fucker, but my mom said she couldn’t handle any more. So she let them put up the fence, on her property.
“It broke my mom, she was never the same. She was a nervous wreck. This shit for brains got away quite literally with murder. Never even a word of apology. So I’m making him eat and drink this,” he gestured to the bowl and glass, “as an apology now.”
The man stopped, pushed the barrel of the gun into the Stenton’s temple again, and said, “Why have you stopped eating, jackass. Eat up, drink up, before I put a bullet in your head.”
Stenton again tried to eat, managed to get most of the brown gruel-looking food in his mouth, and again gagged as he swallowed.
“Wash it down, fucker,” the man said, jabbing the barrel. Stenton picked up the glass of yellowish liquid, his hand shaking violently, tried to drink, got some of it down, gagged again, the rest rolling down his front.
Chan cleared his throat. “Sir, what is it you’re making Stenton eat and drink?”
* * * * *
Aloha #WriterThursday. Today’s #WritingPrompt is
Use it to inspire a piece of writing, and then post that piece on your site and link back to me, or simply post it as a comment below. I would love to read it : )