In the dock, the prisoner stood, ready for the inevitable. The judge studied him sternly.
“Prisoner,” she said, “you have been found guilty of failing to write a story for Friday Flash Fiction today. Have you anything to say?”
“No, ma’am,” he bleated.
The judge excitedly fumbled for her black cap.
“In that case, I hereby sentence you to be hanged by the feet in the public square until you’ve thought something up.”
Someone in the gallery cried ‘No!’. The prisoner bowed his head, knowing that as a kilt-wearing Scot, his darkest secret could no longer be kept hidden.