A 100 word story for Rochelle Wisoff’s Friday Fictioneers.
PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
He looked down with distaste on the crowds milling around the souvenirs.
You’d never think this place had been a church once.
Of far more value than the artworks on display and guarded with the most elaborate security systems was what was hidden in the crypt.
The cretins don’t even know there is a crypt.
Well, he did, and he knew how to get in. He slipped into the shadows of the gallery and waited, dreaming of the Grand Master’s gratitude when he handed over his prize, how the world would change, and how it would be thanks to him.