|Image by Lora Mitchell|
Rare and Precious Things
I wiped the knife that had stabbed Julius Caesar meticulously on Sabre’s coat of human hair and stepped back to admire the view.
Despite months of scheming, manoeuvring and threats, and after bidding a sum of money even I regarded as obscene, I’d lost out.
Sabre had never taken my collecting seriously. He’d invited me here to gloat. His mistake.
I kicked out, cursing his cooling cadaver as it bruised my toe through the paper thin Italian leather loafers in which Berlusconi had been hanged.
I eased the last living lily on earth into Cleopatra’s asp box and left, smiling.
This story was written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields' Friday Fictioneers Challenge