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Weekly Contest #184
“So, what’s it going to be Mr Jones?” His finger hovered over the innocuous green knob. Superconscious of all the eyes staring at him. Unblinking. Some wide with expectation, others narrowed as though suspicious. He didn’t look at them, no matter how hard they bored into the back of his neck. He only had eyes for the button in front of him. The size and shape of a Tunnock’s tea cake, but green – and inedible of course. Plastic. Everything here was plastic. Even the potted ferns in the reception area he’d entered three hours ago, were plast...
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