This is a slightly delayed Friday fictioneerssubmission. I’m rather more pleased with the title than I am the story but them’s the breaks.
Thanks to Rochelle for the photograph, and, as always, for the inspiration.
On discovering he’d been transformed into an Octopus, Oliver’s immediate response was that he’d be able to learn the piano at last. His efforts as a schoolboy had ended in failure but he hoped the acquisition of additional appendages would lend him a degree of virtuosity. Sadly, his tentacles were too cumbersome to pick out individual notes and, for some reason, he was terrified of diminished 7ths.
He ended his days composing incidental music for straight-to-DVD thrillers, wishing bitterly that when he’d sued the nuclear power station, he’d held out for the antidote instead of settling for the Amazon vouchers.