My wrists were tied to a wooden bar. The door closed and I was alone.

A switch clicked and light flooded the room and spilled through the fabric of the sack over my head.

‘Hello?’

A hand pulled the sack away and I looked into his face.

‘So you found me,’ he said. ‘What should I do with you now, old friend?’

‘Talk to me.’

‘Why should I talk to you?’

‘I can offer you a way back.’

‘Why would I want to go back?’

‘The alternative is I kill you.’

He laughed. ‘You don’t seem to be in a position to promise that.’

He was right. He was always right.

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Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE). The idea is to write a short story of 100 words based on the photo prompt (above).

To read stories of 100 words based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.

We lost one of the giants of modern literature this week, and a writer I simply adored. John le Carre was the master of the spy novel, but also one of the greatest writers of the last century full stop. This is my own little tribute to him. Thanks for the stories.

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