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Challenge of the Week CCXXXI
You're in an alley, against a wall, and you're in deep. You really let go of the wheel this time, took a loan from a certain group of, well, shiny dark-haired gentlemen of the city streets. You changed your looks, moved to the east side of town to avoid them, but they have you now, by the wrist, modified cigar cutter ready, two of them smiling at you while the third has your neck in the crease of his elbow. Your four fingers and thumb splayed above your wrist in grip, you have to answer the question, "Which one? If you don't pick now, we take two." Write a poem or story about what put you in that alley, your pick of digit, and the experience, the aftermath of adaptation, if you want, the whole story, if the story goes that far for you. And don't even think about not entering, because we know people, you know? - Winner gets 25 bucks. Go.
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GerardDiLeo

Analog Sentiment in the Digital Age

They had me and they knew it. I knew it. Time to pay the piper. Time to pay Paul, Peter's robbery long forgotten. My lesson to learn: spend their money and lose a finger.

I knew the risk when they so generously offered me their money, interest compounded minutely (not in small amounts, but in time).

They had the courtesy to allow me to choose which finger I announced was worth losing. It didn't take a lot of thought.

I needed my thumbs to hitchhike with my lover.

I needed my index finger to please my lover.

I needed my ring finger to flaunt my love for my lover.

I needed my pinky to swear undying love to my lover.

Gagged so efficiently, I couldn't name the finger. I could only show them. My gorilla released my hand and I raised it to display the middle finger, which I only needed to identify those I hated.

It's an important life statement to make. Glad I have another one.