This one was inspired by a prompt from @sullenhearts on Twitter.
Oh god, it’s totally like my “WORST NIGHTMARE!” She laughed, slurping her espresso martini and flinging back her head with calculated abandon.
“Can you IMAGINE? Like, ME in the NORTH? I start getting like, palpitations if I have to leave, like KENSINGTON!”
…
The dour bleats of socialist sheep on rainy moors echoed through her sleep. She was in static caravan, eating squashy sandwiches, feeding bites to a whippet, and like, ENJOYING it.
She woke, her throat hoarse with screams.
The next evening, she eyed a guest ale from Barnsley with horrified fascination.
Something had changed. A dark urge had awakened.
Tom Juniper Poetry 