With pain-filled eyes he walked around the wreck. This was his creation now uncreated, and not through accident but through inattention. What he had wrought with love, effort, and time, he had now let fall to ruin. Another casualty of procrastination; another victim in a long line of lethal lazy. He circled the crushed corpse of his work and his heart ached. No-one mourns like a murderer.
Squatting by the the ruins he picked up some scattered pieces; a bent cog here, a stripped gear there. Was there enough for another attempt?
He owed it to himself to find out.
Genre: Not-Too-Subtle-Metaphor-About-My-Blog
Word Count: 100
Hi Folks – scraping it in at the last minute again, mostly because of illness, being busy at work, and Star Wars Battlefront on the PS4 (I am so weak).
A quick thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and to Luther Siler for the photo. Check out the other stories here!
Consider this a statement of intent – I’ll do my best to pick up the pieces and get back to creating!
Cheers
KT
Uncertain Tales 
Your story fitted very well with both the photo and your interesting new genre!
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Dear KT,
Fascinating genre. “No one mourns like a murderer.” Love that line. Well told story of procrastination. Better late than never.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Good for him for not giving up.
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