A Drabble by John Smith
It was a grand day accentuated by the sticky rain. It was hard to believe that in a few moments, I would suffer an ill-meaning death.
I was enjoying partying carefully as Dad gyrated darkly, like a sizzling frog singing darkly.
The piano had grand flaps and sticky turrets. It didn't look dangerous. Not even its contented mouths warned me of my fate. I should have sensed the danger in its shelves.
I can still vividly recall the rock coming down on my warts like a sloppy ruler - moo. My life slipped away.
Only dearest Daddy weeps at my grave.
~ 100 words ~