You say tomato…

j-hardy-boxing-gym

In the absence of anything approaching moral fortitude Ursula Boxing arrived at her vocation.

Want someone putting in a box?

Call Ursula Boxing.

Her slow-witted, affable husband Jim manned the phone. As far as he was aware they ran a haulage company (though strangely he’d never seen any trucks).

‘My darling,’ he announced, ‘you’ve a job at a boxing gym! Isn’t that precious!’

‘Yes dear,’ she sighed, sizing him up for future packaging.

The decoded message was clear. Woman. 52. One between the eyes – no fuss.

The place was boarded up. As she entered the door slammed shut behind her and she heard rivets being driven into concrete.

Ursula Boxing was now Ursula Boxed.

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

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11 Comments

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11 responses to “You say tomato…

  1. Maybe the husband wasn’t so dim after all

  2. I don’t think she’ll stay boxed for long – that would take a clove of garlic and a stake through the heart, I fancy! Highly entertaining story, Martin.

  3. Oy. Grim–but entertaining. I’ve never liked the name “Ursula”–not sure why, and I hope there are no Ursulas out there being offended.

  4. Was it the husband? Or did she have enemies and secret life no one else knew about? Nicely done Martin

  5. Dale

    Well done, Martin. It’s only a question of time before the hunter becomes the hunted…

  6. Loved this AND the title.

  7. This was so, so good. Witty turns of phrase. Succinct. Loved it!

  8. Mike

    Loved the rivets driven into concrete, great story

  9. I think there is an end to all… sounds like a just end.

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