Plotting (Flash Fiction)

The chair gave a long squeak at his recline. Bob sat up and scowled. A henchman darted across the polished floor, dressed in black garb, and generously applied oil from the can. Bob leaned back once more to the pleasant sound of silence.

“My globe,” he said, waving his hand.

His henchman scurried about themselves. The three of them pushed at the six foot globe from the corner of the room. The wheels at its base squealed and wobbled. The ornate bronze axis shone brilliantly beside the roaring fire. Bob ran his long fingers across its weathered surface. He embraced the world in his arms and smiled at his henchmen.

“Gentlemen! Our next target awaits!”

He gave the mighty globe a spin. The lines and colors blurred. Bob tapped his fingers together with glee as the anticipation of destruction filled his wicked eyes. His henchmen stood with their mouths hanging loose, mesmerized. Bob brought his finger down and stopped all of civilization.

He peered down.
“Ocean. Spin again.”

He spun again. Excitement crawled up his crooked spine. His mouth snarled into the only smile he could form, revealing yellowed teeth. He wringed at his hands as he struggled to contain himself. His index finger came down.

“Ocean.” He gave a queer look over the edge of the globe to his waiting henchmen. They looked to themselves, avoiding eye contact. “I’ll spin again.” He spun yet again and quickly stopped it before a full turn could complete.

“Ocean. Well shit on this!”

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