Ambrose Cropper

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Cover image: pixabay.com

Submitted: June 10, 2019

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Submitted: June 10, 2019

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Ambrose Cropper

Ambrose Cropper was one of those people that firmly believed that you got what you deserved from life. He was against any kind of welfare, any kind of aid whatsoever; and should you end up in an intolerable situation, that was just tough. You made your own choices, or had them made for you, you just put up with the consequences.

Mr Cropper was a single man. After all, what woman in her right mind or not would saddle herself with someone so outspokenly misogynistic. He had been heard on more than one occasion advices a drinking buddy to get his wife in line by ‘whatever means necessary’. Some certainly took his advice, but most, once sober realised the error of their ways and the wrongness of his thinking.

Not one to be bothered whether he had company or not, Ambrose would happily spend hour upon hour, polishing his most prized possessions. Guns handed down from father to son and added to whenever the fancy took him. Maybe some were bordering the line between being legal to possess, but so what! What no one saw, no one could complain about.

He had gone to jail for a short time for refusing to pay his taxes. Or rather HE hadn’t, for his name, his id, everything was more recent than that. He still did not pay tax; why should his money go to others less fortunate, for they had made their own beds after all.

Unfortunately for Ambrose, his luck took a dive and fate turned against him. This time, though, it really was through negligence. Mr Cropper should have taken more care when fitting that propane gas canister; he’d incorrectly sealed it and had left a slow leak. Perhaps if he had not had a cold he would have smelled the leak; it was pure luck that the explosion happened when he was out in his garden.

The blast was tremendous, helped in its intensity by all the ammunition Ambrose Cropper had amassed. After all, what good would all those firearms have been without something to fire from them. Fate smiled down on him in the timing. But did it?

For no one was going to help him out, given his attitude towards people that were down on their luck, or otherwise in need. The tables might be turned but the attitude he had preached was not forgotten. Let him lay in the bed that he had made for himself – the one under the stars, with the clothes he was standing in as his only possessions.

Government aid was out of the question. He’d paid no tax. Ambrose Cropper did not officially exist, and had no entitlements to any form of financial help. The locals seemed quite content to ignore him, so long as he kept his distance. Should he get to close though, the lessons he had doled out to his drunken friends were brought to mind and put in to action.

Ambrose Cropper had become a victim of his own narrow-minded bigotry.


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