In his wallet were three one dollar bills. Four strokes of a computer keyboard showed his checking account balance of three hundred and twenty three dollars. In his sweaty left hand was a check for seven hundred thousand dollars. His heart raced. His chest tightened. A middle class kid from moderate means; he now found himself monied. In his second year of brokering, he was everything he never thought he would be; corrupt. He traded shares of a company that didn't exist and, for now, gotten away with the con. On the outside he looked accomplished. Inside, he was rotten.
*blogger's note* This is exhibit four of the my participation in the 100 word challenge, sponsored by http://www.velvetverbosity.com/ aka @velvetverbosity on twitter. I write 100 words or less on a one word theme. This week's word is ROTTEN. I wanted to wax poetic on Sex Pistol Johnny Rotten but at the last minute I went with this take on a decayed soul. Please check out the other entries.
Also keep your eye on http://www.writingonsteroids.blogspot.com/ over the coming days and weeks.
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