On Not Being Winston Churchill…

Repeating itself…

Read After Burnout

“What’s your full name?” the main man asked.

I thought him to be the main man because he was the one to ask whilst the others nervously pushed together in an attempt to allow him his rightful share of the space. He had grown accustomed to such reverenced for his authority and he moved around his little stage as if it was the first performance of Hamlet, with him naturally playing the eponymous hero.

“Name, full name,” he continued. I had obviously fluffed my lines.

“Winston Churchill.”

His head snapped quickly to the right as if trying to capture something that had suddenly appeared for the briefest of instants, before disappearing again into the unknown. He looked at his clipboard, using his pen to trace the list he had upon it.

“Churchill?” he muttered through itching annoyance before snapping back. “Very amusing, Mr. Evans. Now what’s your full name?” He…

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