An Interview With My Favorite Author

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It was nothing like what I had imagined.

I found him rocking forward and backwards on his famous cane chair, a cigarette dangling between his parched lips. The ashtray on the table overflowed with snubbed butts.

There were sheets of paper, scrunched into balls, discarded all over the place. I opened one, and read.

It was not good.

The cabin stank of whiskey, vomit, and failure.

I started the interview, he slurred incoherent words. Then he started coming on to me.

I shot a look of disgust and pity towards him and left.

I shouldn’t have peeped behind the curtain.

Word Count: 100

Written in response to the picture prompt provided by Yvette Prior for the weekly Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff – Fields. Please find other entries here.