To read the other contributions, click on the blue froggy.
Marvik and Grvox, father and son team from “WorldRenewals Inc” stepped onto Earth, freshly scorched and ready for new inhabitants.
“The flamers did a good job on this one,” said Grvox. He pointed at a charred skeleton. “What d’ya suppose that was?”
“Some sort of marine mammal, son.”
“And what about over there? Looks like the remains of a… city? Built by those Hoomans? Da, we’re not allowed to flame worlds containing intelligent life!”
“Son, you’ve read the report on this world, same as me. Plundering your planet’s resources to exhaustion to make ‘shiny new things’ isn’t a sign of intelligence.”
Here’s my story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story.
To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy. The supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story.
“The only residents remaining in the small town of Miners Hill are spirits.”
“That was the end of the myth? Heavy,” said Chad.
“Yep,” said Brad. “And there it is. Miners Hill.”
“Wow. It really is black and white. I thought it was just an old photo.”
They scrambled down the hill.
“Spirits, the myth says? What kind, d’ya think?”
“I’m hopin’ vodka, whisky, maybe even… the Good Stuff.”
“Wow. Advocaat? Heavy.”
Suddenly a host of ghostly apparitions appeared.
“Whoa!” Chad pulled the joint out of his mouth and stared at it suspiciously.
“I can see them too, and I’m not even high!” said Brad.
“Oh, dude, you gave up?” asked Chad sympathetically.
“Yeah, it’s kinda tough…”
“IF YOU TWO DON’T MIND?” broke in one of the spirits. “YOUR SOULS ARE FORFEIT.”
“No! Not my Nikes!” Chad looked in dismay at his footwear.
“SOULS. WITH A ‘U’.”
And so the lads joined the ranks of the dead, booze in hand, weed in mouth, the highest spirits of Miners Hill.
Here is my contribution to Cee’s Black and White Challenge. This week’s topic is “heads or facial features”, and even art or mannequins are fair game.
Therefore, I have lovingly recreated the “heads” scene from the iconic music video “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen.
I’m sure you’ll agree it’s hardly distinguishable from the original, except that Queen’s version featured more world-class musicians and fewer teddy bears :-). Which obviously don’t belong to me since I’m all growed up and such ;-).
It’s dismal and misty outside, so to cheer things up here are some photos I took a couple of weeks ago in my Mum and Dad’s garden.
Here is my contribution to this week’s Friday Fictioneers, the weekly 100 word flash fiction challenge hosted by Rochelle at Addicted to Purple. This week’s photo comes to us courtesy of Santoshwriter.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
She cried for the pain she felt, for the helplessness. She cried for her lost childhood, her forgotten innocence. Her mother knew, had to know, and she cried that the one person who should have protected her had failed, had ignored what was happening.
She hefted the package the stranger had handed her. Squat, black, ugly, magazine fully loaded. A means to an end. She headed home, noticing in passing her tears glistening on the leaves in the early morning sunlight, reflecting rainbows of colour.
How can my misery create such beauty? she wondered, tucking the pistol into her waistband.
Here is my contribution to this week’s Mondays Finish the Story, hosted by Barbara Beacham. 100-150 words is the goal, and the supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story.
This week’s other stories can be found by clicking on the blue froggy. I couldn’t help thinking that the boat (if that’s what it is) in the picture looks like the slowest boat ever, so that’s the way I went in my rather nutty story this week. I had fun substituting the usual words associated with sleek and fast ocean-going vessels with the ones I used here :-).
Sorry about the ending, I’m already over the word count :-(.
The crew of the Angel Flame received orders to head out.
“Pleasure yacht ‘Schnitzel’ adrift – all craft assist!”
Derkin put to sea, his son Timmy standing excitedly at the prow. The Flame’s powerful twin engines pushed the craft to an impressive 1.5 miles per hour. Timmy shouted with glee!
They cut through the waves like a spork through a brick, eating up the inches, thundering at nearly no speed whatsoever towards the stricken yacht. Another rescue craft drew level and then shot ahead, its lone occupant pulling hard on the oars.
“Faster, Dad!” yelled Timmy.
Derkin gritted his teeth and engaged the afterburner, increasing speed to 1.75 miles per hour. Suddenly a three inch wave hit them full on, swamping the boat.
“We’re taking on water, we’ll have to turn back!” he yelled. “I hope we make it!”
Derkin turned the Flame and stared in horror. The dock was already over thirty feet distant! Throttles open to the limit, they reached safety twenty minutes later and were home in time for tea.