“Wicked!”, she’d cried in amazement, examining the perfection of her newly-born son, Christopher.
“He seemed determined to be late,” said the nurse, “We were getting worried.”
As it happened, Christopher was late right throughout his life; late to become toilet-trained, late to walk, late to talk and, as he grew older, late for school. He was late for just about every activity in which he was included (which, frankly, wasn’t that many).
He was however punctual on two occasions, the first being when, high on the castle ruins with a telescopic rifle, he carefully picked off at least thirty innocent tourists on the square below.
The last was after a police marksman had thoughtfully dispensed summary justice, and the late Christopher Jackson arrived on time for his own funeral.
A solitary mourner, his mother, stood by his grave and concurred with the newspapers; her only son had indeed been wicked.
Sorry to be late joining the party at What Pegman Saw – you know what Sundays are like… 🙂 Click on the blue frog to add your 150 word story, or to read what others have seen in the Google street views. That extra 50 words over and above Friday Fictioneers takes some getting used to.