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FF – Ye Tragedy at Red Mountain
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Jean L. Hays.
Here’s the link for all the stories. I don’t know how to make the big blue froggy work 😦
I was in a weird mood when I wrote this and I had a headache. So here’s a weird story which will give you a headache.
Copyright Jean L. Hays
Ye Tragedy at Red Mountain
And so did it come to pass that the killer slugs reached Red Mountain, and thus did the townsfolk shelter in ye Deli, for its shelves were filled to bursting with salt.
And the townsfolk did surround ye bastion with salt, and the slugs did dissolve, and the townsfolk did rejoice, and did not escape as they were urged!
As the salt did deplete, removed they their eye-glasses to construct a giant magnifier. And brave Sebastian did climb the roof with the glass to fry the slugs.
And then did the sun go in and the townsfolk did die.
Idiots.
The End.
Evil Squirrel’s Contest of Whatever 2019
It’s that time of the year again! This is the sixth annual Evil Squirrel Contest of Whatever and this year’s theme is “A squirrel walks into a bar…” That’s pretty open-ended, which actually made it a bit harder…
I pulled out all the stops here and engaged the services of DraliDoodles(TM). After a long period of inaction, I was glad to see they hadn’t lost their touch – their artwork is as realistic and awe-inspiring as ever! I have a suspicion they re-used the same images in every picture, though…
Now the warning – if you’re in any way upset by rudeness and/or blatant double entrendres, close your browser now! It relies very heavily on multiple meanings for words, but I’m afraid this is a very busy month and that’s all my childish brain could manage 😦
The name’s Gnutty. Gnutty McSquirrel. Yes, I’m tall. I’m bigger than the average squirrel. I’m also a PI. That’s a dick to you. A private dick.
There’s huge demand for a big dick in this town.
I come to this bar for the nuts. And the beer. But mostly for the nuts.
I love big nuts.
This broad walks in. Legs up to here. She sits on a bar stool. My bar stool. She sips the froth off a beer. My beer. She eats some nuts. My nuts.
That’s quite a woman, eating my nuts.
She tells me she needs a dick. I tell her I’m available, for a price. She reaches for her purse. I tell her that’s not what I had in mind. I need my pipes cleaning. She comes back to mine and we go to my back room.
I expose my organ.
She grabs a cloth and gets rubbing. First the pipes, then the keyboard. I play a few chords from Phantom of the Opera. Much better.
I ask if she’d like a slow comfortable screw against the wall.
She says she would. I grab the vodka and liqueurs and ask her what she wants. She says she cheated on her husband but can’t remember who with. It was dark, she says.
She needs to know who it was. She wants to make sure he doesn’t tell hubbie. She wants to shout at him. Yell at him. Scream at him.
She wants to give him a good tongue-lashing.
Turns out it was me. Thought she looked familiar. Easy case. I won’t talk. Maybe. For a price.
Told you I was a big dick.
FF – The Glass World
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. She also contributed the photo this week.
I was worried this week as I’m out at the cinema later and will have no time to think of a story, but I had an idea the instant I saw the photo and the story was finished ten minutes later. I love it when a plan comes together 🙂
Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
He looked sadly, resigned, at the flowers. Once so vibrant, they had taken on a different kind of beauty. Harsh, rigid, eternal.
Already he could feel the bioweapon coursing through his veins. His legs hung heavy from the edge of the chair, opalescent, a multi-coloured perfection no glass-blower could hope to replicate.
His mistake, of course, had been to add the pathogen to the water supply, free to infect every living thing, a misguided protest at the folly of Man now become Mankind’s end.
On reflection, testing the antidote before releasing the virus would have been a good idea, too.
FF – Hors d’oeuvres
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by J Hardy Carroll.
I had no time today to even think of a story and was beginning to panic, but fortunately this occurred to me on the way home, thinking of that strange thing at the upstairs window…
Copyright J Hardy Carroll
“A beautiful location, miles from anywhere.”
“It is beautiful!”
“Notice the brickwork, the original windows…”
“Oh my, yes! And what’s that up there, it looks like OH MY GOD IT’S A SEVERED HEAD!”
“No, no, of course it’s not…”
“SEVERED HEAD! SEVERED HEAD!”
“I’m sure it’s just left over from Halloween.”
“SEVERED… do you really think so?”
“Realistic but clearly fake.”
“Oh, I feel so silly!”
“Nonsense, not at all. Listen, the owners are friends of mine. I’m sure they’d love to… have you for dinner.”
“Oh, lovely! Will there be hors d’oeuvre?”
“Lady, you are the… um, yes.”
“Lovely!”
FF – Out of the Fire
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Anshu Bhojnagarwala.
Copyright Anshu Bhojnagarwala
“We call in humility.”
“And the Dark Lord shall answer!”
“We ask for his presence.”
“And the Dark Lord shall come!”
“To step out of the flames.”
“And the Dark Lord shall appear!”
“Arise! Arise! Arise!”
Phaaa-boooom!
“I AM COME!”
“Oh, Lord of Darkness, hear these pleas of your humble slaves…”
“YES, MORTALS, I AM HERE TO DESTROY AND MAIM AND…”
Michael? What are you and your friends doing down there?
“Arse, it’s my Mum.”
If you’ve lit another fire, so help me I’ll tan your hides…
“RIGHT, I’M OFF. I DON’T DO MUMS, MUMS ARE SCARY.”
Phaaa-boooom!
“Bugger.”
FF – Dude
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The photo was contributed by Renee Heath.
My story hasn’t really got a beginning, middle or end and isn’t really a story as such either, but I’m short on ideas and time 😦
Copyright Renee Heath
“Dude.”
“Dude.”
Puff puff
“This is some good shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s sit here some more and watch our tent. It’s, like, swayin’ an’ driftin’.”
“Dude. It’s multicoloured. What is this stuff?”
“Peyote. All natural.”
Natural? Gotta be good for you then.”
“Dude.”
“Storm coming up. Should we move?”
“Can’t move, dude.”
“Man, this wind is bad. Where’d the tent go?”
“Blew away, dude.”
“Dude. SAVE THE WEED!”
Scramble scramble
“Weed is saved!”
“Dude!”
“Dude!”
“Car’s blown over.”
“Don’t care.”
“We’re gonna regret this tomorrow.”
“Live in the now, dude! What d’ya do?”
“Brain surgeon. You?”
“Airline pilot.”
“Dude.”
“Dude.”
FF – Metaphor For Life
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Ted Strutz.
Copyright Ted Strutz
The car nestled against a tree, headlights smashed, bonnet standing agape, paint peeling, bodywork rusted. Abandoned. Forgotten.
Randall allowed himself a wry smile. A fitting metaphor for my life, he thought. Once hurtling carefree along roads of fortune, city job, gold-digger trophy wife… then cast out to rot and die.
He sat next to the shell, cursing his old alcohol-soaked bones. A curious deer wandered close, bolting as it sensed his eyes on it.
This isn’t so bad, I guess. Nature. Even “dearest” Sophia is here. Say hello to the car, Sophia.
Sophia’s skull grinned at him.
Randall grinned back.
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