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Archive for the ‘Fiction’ Category

FF – Inner Voice

January 16, 2019 54 comments

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Dale Rogerson.

Warning: there are a couple of slightly rude words in my story for comic effect.

Copyright Dale Rogerson

 

“Great, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful.” No.

“We’ll be the talk of the neighbourhood!”

“We certainly will be.” … a laughing stock.

“Just wait till everyone comes round later!”

“It’ll be simply marvellous!” I feel a headache coming on.

“So, are you happy?”

“Deliriously, my love.” Shoot me now.

“What do you think, Benny?”

“It’s crap, Dad. Why can’t we have a proper Christmas tree instead of bits of sticky tape… shit, did I say that out loud? I meant, it’s amazing, father!”

“Thank you, Benny. A little more practice on your inner voice, please.”

“Of course, Father.” Piss off.

“Much better.”

 

FF – The Great Mafesto

January 9, 2019 67 comments

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Priya Bajpal.

Copyright Priya Bajpal

 

The Great Mafesto growled. The sink was full of shells again and his favourite cocktail had transformed into an ornament. Those damn pixies, always causing trouble!

The Great Mafesto looked high and low and found the pixie hiding in a corner giggling. He clicked his fingers and the pixie shrieked, bursting into flames. No-one makes fun of the Great…

TOMMY! The toilet’s blocked! If you’ve been shoving shells down the sink again, young man, so help me I’ll…

The Great Mafesto made a hasty exit through the French windows, cleverly escaping the wrath of the Monumentous Magnificent Mother…

 

FF – Dust Storm

January 2, 2019 58 comments

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Russell Gayer.

Copyright Russell Gayer

 

Jerry stared at the deadly, yet immobile, dust storm. The stasis field, a miracle of temporal engineering, had kept them safe all these years, freezing them in time.

Trapped inside, they had struggled to survive as supplies ran low. Taboos were broken, terrible sacrifices made. People died.

“Can’t stay here alone no more, better off dead,” he murmured, switching off the stasis field, trembling, waiting for the dust to shred him.

There was a whoomp. The dust fell to the ground, the storm long since spent.

“Well, bugger. Could’ve done that months ago. Guess I didn’t need to eat Frank after all.”

 

FF – Prayers to the Dark Lord

December 26, 2018 64 comments

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The photo was contributed by Randy Mazie.

Since it’s a reboot photo from July 2013 I was going to just rewrite my story from last time but it appears I joined the FF crew in August 2013. So thinking cap on!

Copyright Randy Mazie

 

“Consult the Satanists’ Handbook. Midnight?”

“Check.”

“Graveyard?”

“Check.”

“Goat?”

Bleat.

“Check.”

“Ceremonial Dagger of the Night Mother?”

“Check. What’s next… chant prayer to Dark Lord, use ceremonial dagger, have goat for dinner.”

Bleeeeat.

“Hand me the dagger.”

Bleeeeeeeeeeeat!

Twenty minutes later…

“Seems weird using a ceremonial dagger to make sandwiches. More mayo?”

“Please.”

“Never had a goat over for dinner either. More sandwich, goat?”

Bleat!

“I can’t help thinking we’re doing this wrong.”

“Yeah. I always thought Satanism would involve more blood. Like a sacrifice or… oh.”

Bleeeat?

“Hey ho, it should have been more explicit, crappy instructions. Pass the salt.”

 

FF – A Newer Life

December 19, 2018 67 comments

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Adam Ickes.

This photo is a re-run from December 2013. I have used the same basic story idea I wrote back then but have completely rewritten it.

adamickes-childsboots

Copyright Adam Ickes

 

They’d broken away from their tribes, leaving the modern world behind to live as their ancestors had. Hunting, fishing, camp fires. No electricity. No computers.

But the modern world has demands and those demands usually involve money. Some things cannot be hunted or fished. A small income was required.

From time to time backpackers wandered into their valley. In the traditional way, every part of the poor unfortunate was used.

Waste not, want not.

The slogan for their best-selling line ran…

“Hard-wearing hiking boots. Made by men, for men!”

And of course, their biggest secret, from men.

 

FF – Eggnog Overkill

December 12, 2018 64 comments

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Douglas M. MacIlroy.

 

Cleevus finished the code and hit enter. The globe rose into the air, spinning, spewing blinding extra-dimensional energy. Lamps flickered. Outside, the sound of car alarms, people screaming, explosions.

“Yes, my beauty!” laughed Cleevus maniacally as the globe’s light reached a crescendo. Plaster fell from the ceiling and the globe dimmed and settled on the podium. It opened.

“Oh yes, YES!” he cackled.

He reached in, took out a glass and sipped.

“Ahhhhh. Eggnog, interdimensionally-mixed to perfection!”

His upstairs neighbour fell through the ceiling, landing in a crumpled heap. The house next door collapsed.

“Collateral damage… eh, who cares! Mmm, eggnog.”

 

FF – All in a Day’s Work

December 5, 2018 75 comments

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Dawn M. Miller.

Copyright Dawn M. Miller

 

009 grimaced as he flew out the train window. Twisting his body to avoid the girders, he shot past the decomposing corpse of 004. Popular spot for chucking spies off trains…

Hitting the water, he struggled to the bank where a local wrapped him in a blanket, pointing to his shack.

“Welcome, Unfortunate Spies!” was written in seventeen different languages.

Very popular spot…

The local offered him the “Spy Pack” – fake passport, gadget watch, Walther PPK. 009 upgraded to “Deluxe”, which included bullets. Gonna need those…

Shooting the enterprising local (loose end) he headed off. All in a day’s work.