Flies buzzed. They flew in slomo before landing on the ham sandwiches and the pink cupcakes. How much shit had they sat on before touchdown? Was I going to be eating pure ecoli or no germs at all. I brushed them away. They rose as a black cloud, descending on food out of my arm’s reach. It was too hot to care. The fans did little to challenge the heat. Soon it wouldn’t matter – we’d all be baked inside this tin can. The sweat raged as a torrent flowing down the gullies of my face. The bride and groom must be boiling. They were clothed for occasion; not for comfort. They’d look like they were melting in the photos. I was no fan of swimming but I yearned for the river. They’d not miss me. I took off.
I was close to the river when I heard a loud kabooom. I turned. The shed had gone, engulfed in flames. Running, no longer caring about the heat. How I hated terrorists.
Thank you to our host Priceless Joy and to Yarnspinner for supplying this week’s photo prompt.
Word count 171