Here’s my latest from FlashFriday Vol 3-18 for which I made Special Mention. The story, based on the prompt below, also had to inlcude reference to a spy.
He’d reached the age when every man reflects on his life.
He’d played with toys that never hit the market and drove only the best of cars. He’d killed more than he could count and saved the lives of millions more. The best clothes, a world traveler. Flew his own plane and fixed everyone’s problems. He kicked a lot of ass, and tapped just as much, if not more. He was a man’s man. The kind of man everyone wants to be.
He’d reached the age when men played with their grandchildren.
He leaned back in his easy chair. Those women, they stopped returning his calls. A long, long time ago. And he didn’t have any. Women—let alone anyone—to call, that is, or grandchildren for that matter. Like most days he wore a dingy cotton robe and nothing else and used his finger to stir his ubiquitous drink. He sighed, and picked at the peeling leather from his easy chair’s armrests, trying to convince himself he was still a man’s man, the kind of man everyone wants to be.
But he wasn’t. Wasn’t much of a man after all. Never was.
He lived alone and forgotten like a beggar on the street.
His name was Bond, James Bond.