draliman on life

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

Click on the froggy to read all the stories and add your own.

Copyright Ted Strutz

“Next!”

“Good morning! We’d like to see a show.”

“Huh?”

“Cats?”

“Whaa?”

“Starlight Express?”

“?”

“Evita, perhaps?”

“?”

“Oliver? West Side Story? Beauty and the Beast?”

“Ain’t got none a’ those.”

“Okay, so what do you have?”

“Big boxes. Medium boxes. Small boxes.”

“Boxes.”

“It’s right there, above the door. Box. Office. An office. For boxes.”

“But, um, that’s not what… are you taking the piss?”

“Do you want a box or not?”

“Hell. Give me a medium.”

“Do you want it boxed up?”

“Jesus.”

“Next!”

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week she also provided the photo! Click Mr Frog for the linkup.

Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Sam smiled. An airport without aircraft! Who would have thought? No-one, certainly, before the arrival of the N’Gak’Na three years ago.

Hailing from a distant galaxy, they had asked for nothing, yet gave so much. Suspicion waned as poverty and starvation were eliminated. In fact, everyone was getting quite plump!

Entering the transfer pod, Sam closed his eyes and waited. The UK to Australia in two seconds! The pod whirred.

Opening his eyes, he found himself lying on a table, surrounded by a N’Gak’Na family holding cutlery, their mandibles watering. A carving knife descended.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even scream.

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Valerie J. Barrett.

To read all the stories and to add your own, click on the froggy.

Copyright Valerie J. Barrett

Ah, to see the light of day! The old house restored and open to the public!

I pressed the Sunday best, you heated Madam’s beverages.

And I stirred that beverage. Halcyon days!

What’s all that white crap?

That’s a mark of my venerable age. Why are you spraying out your spout?

I’m excited, okay? Big day!

Shh, here come the visitors. Oh, for them to see us in all our beautiful glory, paragons of a bygone age!

“Wow, look at all this useless old shit. Let’s try the next room.”

Well, that took us down a peg or two and no mistake.

Philistines.

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by C.E. Ayr.

Click on the froggy to see all the stories and add your own.

Copyright C.E. Ayr

“No! No way!”

“Whatever is the matter, my dear?”

“It has a balcony! Read the news, woman! English tourists are forever plunging to their deaths off balconies. And that aircon unit! In every American film I’ve ever seen someone’s been crushed by a falling aircon unit.”

“Maybe you’ve been watching the wrong…”

“You go inside. I’m nobody’s fool. I’m going for a swim in the pool.”

Funny, but in every film I’ve ever seen…

GERRRONIMOOOO!

… the injury’s because some idiot doesn’t check…

SPLAT! ARRRRGHHH…

… there’s water in the pool before jumping in. I hope our holiday insurance covers gross stupidity…

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

Well, this one pretty much wrote itself 🙂

To read the other stories and add your own, click here.

Copyright Susan Eames

Despite the beauty of his surroundings Micah sat, head in hands, tears streaming down his cheeks.

How had it happened? He’d always been so careful. Every step planned, everything accounted for.

How would he tell his wife? His poor, darling wife, waiting for him at home. She’d be preparing supper right now, oblivious, maybe humming a tune as she worked.

She’d sent him out for coconuts. He’d climber higher, higher, his foot had slipped… he’d landed, legs akimbo, on this branch.

She’d sent him out for nuts and HE’D CRUSHED HIS OWN.

On the plus side, the choir needed more sopranos…

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The photo was contributed by J. Hardy Carroll.

It’s all a bit mad and has a beginning, a middle and an end (purely because I put “The End” at the end). It sort of starts with the photo, takes a bit of a left turn in the middle and then shoots off at a tangent at the end 🙂 .

Warning – may contain drug references!

https://fresh.inlinkz.com/js/widget/load.js?id=ee77f3783e1bbf9d1eef

Copyright J. Hardy Carroll

“Look! Puff the Magic Donkey.”

“Surely it’s ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’?”

“I can’t draw dragons. But he’s still magic. Look!”

The donkey leapt from the page and appeared on the pavement! His eyes were wide and unfocussed and he appeared a trifle unsteady on his hooves.

“Hi, Puff.”

Puff coughed a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. “Dude,” he hee-hawed, wandering dazedly out into traffic.

Meanwhile, in Magic Donkeyland HQ, Stoner-General Donkey awaited news from his invasion scout, Stoner-Corporal Puff – a report fated never to arrive, after stoned-out-of-his-brain Puff’s close encounter with the Number 19 bus from Islington.

Invasion aborted!

The End.

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. She also provided this week’s photo.

Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The starting pistol fires! He dives into the water – Geoff Bullet, defending Olympic champion. But… something’s wrong! Bright light, waves… not a pool, a huge lake! A random inter-dimensional portal…? Geoff kicks hard for shore… so far, so very far, muscles like lead, must… keep… going…

“Geoffrey! Stop thrashing around, get out of the pool and get changed! The rest of the class is already on the bus.”

“Yes, Sir, sorry, Sir…”

Caught by a vicious deadly monster, Geoff Bullet is hauled from the water and forced into a lifetime of slavery in the notorious Algebra Mines of the planet Arithmeticita…