draliman on life

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

The smells of street cooking filled his nostrils. His mouth watered.

But he wasn’t there to eat. He had a job to do.

He slipped through the crowd, unnoticed, a ghost. Target in sight.

Sliding close, he slipped his hand into his pocket. So quickly that none noticed, he had written the ticket and slapped it on the bike.

Bike chained to railings, in contravention of city bylaw 1254 section 2 paragraph 4? Not on his watch.

The angry owner arrived.

“Sorry, mate, nuffin’ I can do, the ticket’s wrote now innit, guv’nor, more’n my job’s werf.”

Another job well done.

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

For sale, one pre-fab house, £1000 ono complete with floor safe (broken)…

Three days earlier…

“Well, Baz? Did you get the safe?”

“It was bolted to the floor, boss.”

“Okay, so did you crack it in situ?”

“In where boss?”

“Did you open it and nick the contents?”

“Couldn’t boss. Too tough. So we brought it with us.”

“I thought you said it was bolted to the house?”

“Yeah. We brought the house too.”

“You what? Idiot!”

“What’ll we do boss?”

“Crack the safe and… stick the house on eBay. Double win! I take it all back. Nice job, Baz!”

“Thanks, boss!”

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

“Ah, this is the life, eh, dear?”

Ten minutes of light drizzle and we’re knee-deep in scummy water.

“Basking in the lovely weather…”

Lovely weather?

“… gazing out over the lake. The locals call it ‘The Nile’ hah!”

Huge muddy puddle.

“I think I’ll go for a swim!”

Maybe a swamp creature will rise up and eat him.

…

…

“Help, my darling, my foot is caught in a shopping trolley! Help!”

I must have left my hearing aid indoors.

GLUG GLUG…

I better leave it a few minutes before I phone the ambulance, make sure he’s properly dead.

Bliss!

Here is my story (not really a story) for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by David Stewart.

What could it be?
An alien landscape, strewn about with energy pods, throbbing with power.

What could it be?
Alien eggs, ready to hatch, stereotypically blue for males and pink for females.

What could it be?
A triumph of modern art, the culmination of a life’s work made real in stark neon colours.

What could it be?
Futuristic travel pods, each containing a single life form.

What could it be?
Stomp stomp stomp KICK!
One of the ovoids sails though the air, flying straight through the centre of the distant circle. Cheers abound.

What could it be?
One-nil, apparently.

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

Maddens shone his multi-phasic light across the alleyway. There – tripolycarbo-urethic fuel, leaking from an overflow. Someone had been careless.

Nasty stuff, usually invisible, cuts straight through flesh.

He turned to the proprietor.

“You! Thank the System your negligence dismembered/killed 17 passers-by or we would never have found this! You are arrested, tried and convicted of resource waste (Resources Act 2057). The sentence is death.”

Bang!

As always post-execution, a queue was forming. He turned to the first.

“Yes, madam?”

“A nice bit of thigh and a kidney, please.”

Police Officer Butcher-Judge Mike Maddens grabbed his cleaver.

Waste not, want not.

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

Whoooooooshhh!

“We’re here!”

“Why do portals always seem to spit people out in anonymous deserted alleys with foreign writing?”

“It is the way of things. Look, there they are! Take cover!”

Rat-a-tat-a-tat! Bang! Whizz! Pee-ow! Bang! Bang! Rat-a-tat! Hail of bullets! Ka-blam! Rat-a-tat!

“They’re not very good shots, are they?”

“No. They’ve destroyed everything except us. Seems unlikely. Wait a minute…”

“What?”

“Just checking. Ah. I suspected as much.”

“What?”

“We’re rated ‘PG’.”

“’PG’? Oh, man.”

“Yeah. If I can’t grin evilly while snapping someone’s neck I’m not interested.”

“Me neither. I want blood and gore. Let’s portal home.”

“Yep.”

Whoooooooshhh!

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

Bit cooler out here.

Woof.

Miaow.

Look at you with your baubles. How crass.

You’re one to talk with that huge green scarf.

Woof.

Why am I upside down?

Miaow.

Do I look a bit burned around the edges?

You look fine, dear.

LOOK YE ALL! A HAND COMETH!

Aaaahhhh, a haaaand

JEFF IS CHOSEN!

Aaaahhhh, he is the Chosen One

(munch munch yum munch)

JEFF HAS GONE ABOVE. HE HAS ASCENDED. HE IS WITH THE GODS.

With the Godssssss

(munch munch buuurp aaaahhh, great cookies, dear!)

I hope I’m next to be blessed.

Me too.

Woof.

Miaow.

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

The Beacon pulsed, on… off… on… off… it was almost hypnotic.

Almost.

For some it was. Completely. Irresistibly.

As he watched, another unfortunate stumbled towards the Beacon, touching it, exploding into bright white ash. The area around the Beacon was knee deep.

Ash. Dead people.

One day it would be his turn.

Population control, they called it. One day you’d hear the call. Then you’d be gone. Boom. Ash.

He was all for population control. Too many people. Too few resources.

A policy of “free condoms for all” seemed less extreme than blasting people to atoms.

But what did he know?

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

In a forest of greens and browns, The Tree stood proud. Grey, sickly, it had abided long centuries. Many were the theories.

Had it died long since, but not yet crumbled to dust?

Could it be that dark Magicks flourished within the ground, poisoning its roots? If one were to venture too close, might the dark spells cause one’s head to explode?

Was the tree perhaps cursed, and to linger in its vicinity might cause one’s private unmentionables to wither and die?

One thing we know for sure, and one thing only.

It makes for a bloody good photo.

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by C.E. Ayr and brought to mind a scene near the end of the film “Deep Impact”.

So quiet, so peaceful, yet moments from the promised meteor strike. He hadn’t watched the whole news story. He’d seen the Hollywood films.

This was the end.

He’d decided to sit and wait for the tsunami, though he’d also taken a strong neurotoxin. He didn’t want to be left, smashed yet alive, the sole survivor. Better to be sure.

He saw a streak of light. A splash. A small wave washed over his feet.

Hmm. Not what he was expecting. Quite a small meteor, then.

In many ways (he pondered as he dropped dead), he shouldn’t have taken the poison.