Forced to recline because he couldn’t fit in his bespoke designer arm chair, Mr Piggot felt he had achieved ‘fat-rich-pig’ status. He lifted his feet onto the suede ottoman looking across at his brown socks, his purpling ankles peeping from the bottom of his trousers. The socks of despair he thought. As it turns out, creating a monopoly on socks and undergarments hadn’t made him happy. Screw it he thought, how about a monopoly on piggy banks? Yes that might work, surely happiness was just around the corner? I’m onto something he thought, forgetting his woes once again.
Writes a story every day for a year
freyawrightbrough 