The victims swung their heads this way and that, avoiding the eyes of the others.
A skeletal figure, dressed in black, was the puppet-master.
Her gimlet eye settled on the gaunt face of a man that was hardly human.
He stared back like a rabbit caught in headlights, unable to move, hardly managing to breathe, a sheen of moisture covering his features. He nervously adjusted his comb-over, his hand shaking.
He knew what was going to happen to him – and there was nothing he could do about it.
The dark figure held him in her gaze, throwing barbed comments that he hardly felt.
A light fell on him and he gathered his wits: a fleeting moment, and he prepared himself for a last act of defiance before hearing his final words - but he could do nothing.
Here they were at last and in a strange way, he was relieved.
“You are the weakest link – goodbye”
Blimey – I’d tuned into the ‘Weakest Link’ by accident and I don’t feel too good myself now.
(I, of course, don’t need to tune in; the weakest link is always with me. Lo,TG Ed)
