Friday Fictioneers – What if my nose itches?

“He looks so real,” says a small voice below me.

‘Because I am real,’ I think to myself.

It has been 456 days since my drunken car accident that put the real Columbus statue to rest at the bottom of this quaint Balearic harbor. It has been 8 minutes since the last Gull released a torrent of hot white excrement on my head.

My ritualistic penance is the same every day. Wake up early, paint myself in this god awful smelling grey goop and climb this obelisk. My personal hell.

I point and they gawk. I really need to pee.

(100 Words)