draliman on life

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

For some reason, the first thought that came into my head when I saw this picture was that scene from inside the Death Star with those little robots scurrying about the place :-).

To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Amy Reese

Clutching his half-empty bottle of whiskey, Manfred watched the tiny bot as it sped down the corridor towards him. Off to fix another broken lightbulb or clogged sink, no doubt.

That was his task!

Once.

Now all he had was his drink and a cold corner to sleep in.

He raised his leg and as the bot drew level, brought it down with as much force as he could. The bot shattered. Alarms sounded.

“Jobs for humans!” he shouted as hidden hatches opened, disgorging security bots, their weapons pods already extending to eradicate another undesirable element of twenty-second century paradise.

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

To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Roger Bultot

“That’s some security.”

“Keep running!”

“It’s just like in ‘Resident Evil’.”

“Which didn’t end well. Keep running!”

The men burst through the door and fell, gasping. Behind them the laser grid flickered out, having chased them down the (now sliced and diced) stairway.

“Talk about your lethal response. Anyone would think they had the crown jewels in there!” said one.

“They did.” The other opened the bag to reveal crowns, necklaces and other bejewelled goodies.

“Awesome! Good job they didn’t have a backup system.”

Neither man noticed the ticking emanating from a suspiciously large sceptre at the bottom of the bag…

Here is my opst for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The picture this week was supplied by Shaktiki Sharma. To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.

I think I’ve written something like this before but this picture had me stumped 🙂

Copyright Shaktiki Sharma

“Beautiful, truly beautiful!”

“Indeed, Tarquin, a masterpiece of modern times. The ordered chaos, d’ya see? Life in a nutshell.”

“Yes, yes, and the detritus covering the window, surely a cutting comment on today’s society.”

“Of course, never seeing the world around us for the rubbish we surround ourselves with – insightful!”

“Beautiful.”

“Beautiful indeed.”

“I must meet the artist!”

“Look, this must be him! I say, my good man…”

“Oy, you two! Can’t you read? This section of the gallery’s closed for refurbishment. Piss off!”

“Um.”

“Ahem.”

Here is my post for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle and with a photo contributed this week by Sandra Crook. To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.

A silly little piece of nonsense this week.

Copyright Sandra Crook

“This, we believe,” droned the guide robot, “is a tattooing machine, from around the nineteenth century, old Earth date.”

The crowd “oohed” and “ahhed” before following the guide to the next room.

“Hurry up, dear,” said Filenza.

“One sec, I wanna try this out!” replied her husband.

“Are you mad? If you want a tattoo use an ink transference materialisation module.”

“Nah, this’ll be fun. Old school!” he replied. Filenza followed the others as her husband placed his hand under the needle and pushed the pedal.

“Aaaaargh! It’s not a tattooing machine! Aaaaargh!”

Long-suffering Filenza rolled her eyes. Idiot.

“Coming, dearest!”

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. It’s a brand new photo this week, supplied by Vijaya Sundaram.

To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Vijaya Sundaram

Jorgen watched the fireworks as they burst in triumphant splendour over the distant town.

His town.

His burning town.

A town full of corpses. His family, his friends, men, women, children. The woman who helped his kids cross the street to school every day.

All gone now. All gone.

And the invaders were celebrating. Celebrating! Drinking their fill, gorging themselves while everything he’d ever known turned to ash.

Resolute, his decision made, he checked that the knife was secured to his belt and melted into the shadows, heading towards the smoke and fire.

Here is my post for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. It’s another summer rerun so I’m rerunning my original story (with a couple of tiny twiddles), as I had a read earlier and quite liked it. It’s from January 2015. Dee Lovering requested this rerun and the photo was submitted by Georgia Koch.

Click the froggy for all the other stories.

Copyright Georgia Koch

Franco’s friends (if it could be said that he had friends) were astonished when he joined “Save Our Barges”. An ex-mobster, charity was never his thing.

He chatted to the great and good, raised funds and worked tirelessly until at last he made it onto the charity’s board… until at last he was granted access to the Betty May.

The charity’s latest restoration project, the Betty May was locked away in dry dock, awaiting much-needed love and a tender touch.

That night the Betty May burnt down to ash. Some of Franco’s secrets were best left buried.

Here is my post for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This one is a rerun from March 2014 with a photo supplied by Adam Ickes, requested by Sandra Crook. I was going to write a new story but I quite like the story I wrote last time so I’ll repost it (with a few changes).

To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Adam Ickes

Taking a deep breath, Shelley gathered her courage and approached the little wooden bridge. The new varnish gleamed – she couldn’t even tell that it had been damaged.

Edging forward she looked into the gulley, a run-off for melting winter snow. A tear stung her eye as she cast her mind back to the week before when everything was all right, everything was normal – the buzzing of the little dirt bike, the laughter of her brother, his excitement as he tore onto the bridge.

A tiny miscalculation, and everything changed.

Forever.

She placed her flowers next to the bridge and walked away.