My brother Robert is complicated.
People that don’t know him have used other words, such as tortured, or crazy, although nowadays it is hardly politically correct to label people this way.
We’re fortunate to own a small estate, hidden away in the depths of Scotland. It affords us sufficient seclusion to manage our affairs out of the public spotlight.
The servants are discrete and the property is large enough for Robert to go about his daily affairs unhindered.
There must have been a problem with his medication, because we all agree that he’s been abnormally agitated lately.
We found one of the garden statues in several pieces, a strange mix of limbs and busts, half hidden under a shrub. One of Robert’s bracelets was wrapped around one of the wrists. He’s always had such strange tastes in jewellery.
They came in an ambulance and took him away this afternoon.
He’ll be away for months.
Hurrah. At last I’ll have the house to myself.
I’ll be able to play games with the maids and punish the butler and the footmen.
I’ll have so much fun.
This is my entry on the go to Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writers.
The image is © phylor
I’m still in Scotland for a few days.