“Yes!” I said excitedly gently nudging Brad, my research partner of twelve years, as he tinkered over the laptop keys.
“One year remission and the big breakthrough we’ve been hoping for, right? Hey, what the hell, Brad? Why did you delete all our research notes? Have you gone insane? You know my . . .”
Brad cut me off mid-sentence. “You don’t understand all the ramifications if we disclose our findings. The government must never know we have the cure!”
Tears blurred my vision.
“Don’t worry,” Brad said. “Your brother will still get his daily gelatinous salve treatments but without government subsidies.”
::: ::: :::
Friday Fictioneers, the weekly photo prompt challenge to write a one hundred word story hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
Photo source: Madison Woods