draliman on life

It’s Monday, and there’s a story which needs finishing. Yes, it’s Mondays Finish the Story! This is a 150 word flash fiction challenge hosted by Barbara Beacham where we get a photo and a starting sentence (which doesn’t count towards the word count).

The supplied sentence is in bold in my story, and don’t forget to click on the blue froggy to read the other stories.

On March 9th, 2015, three objects were reportedly seen in the skies over the Borracho Todos los Tiempos Vineyards.

Major Dickens couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Corporal, any radar contacts?”

“No, Sir!”

Nothing on radar, but visible through his binoculars. Aliens! Aliens were invading Earth, and on his watch! He reached for the radio.

“General, three inbound bogies, alien origin!”

“Major, are you sure? You have been to the therapist regarding your alien fixation, yes?”

“Absolutely sure this time, Sir!” replied Dickens. Around him troops were staring at the sky, shrugging and shaking their heads.

“Right,” said the General. “I’ve contacted the President and mobilised our forces.”

“Yessir!” replied Dickens. He looked again. There they were, hanging above the distant trees.

The corporal, shaking his head, wiped the water from the Major’s binoculars with his sleeve.

“Ah, General…”

“Yessssss?”

“False alarm, sir! Rain on the binoculars, Sir!”

“Right, Captain, I’ll call the President back, shall I?”

“Um, it’s ‘Major’, Sir…”

“This isn’t good enough, Lieutenant,” continued the General. “Don’t let it happen again. Carry on, Sergeant.”

Here I am with my contribution to Mondays Finish the Story, hosted every week by Barbara Beacham. This is the challenge where we get a photo, an opening sentence and 150 words. The supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story.

I usually post this on Monday, but I had a germ of an idea yesterday and despite several hours of incubation it failed to become a full-on disease… okay, we’ll leave this metaphor now as it has become a little unhealthy-sounding.

Click on the blue froggy for this week’s other contributions and without further ado, here is my good old-fashioned story of love, romance and a willingness to do whatever it takes to find happiness.

When it came to a challenge, Jim Smiley just had to jump right in!

And what bigger challenge than the delectable Countess Josephine? “Jim Smiley, milliner’s son” would not do, and so he reinvented himself.

“Tarquin Farquharson-Smythe” had the right ring, he felt.

He took diction and “cor blimey, it ain’t ‘alf ‘ot today, guv’nor” became “oh, I say, frightfully warm for the time of year, what?” He learned table manners and etiquette.

When word reached him that the inestimable lady would be overseeing the 1865 leap-frogging championships, he entered. Long he practised his leaping, the better to make a bold impression.

The day arrived. The Countess looked exquisite. Jim leaped, jumped and won. Holding the winner’s plaque, he attempted to woo her free of her undergarments. She advised him, however, that she “preferred a bit of rough” and promptly ran off with the woodcutter’s son.

Undaunted, “Tarquin” became “Jim” once more and headed toward the snack tent where he had espied the delightful Lady Jemima taking tea.

It is time for Barbara Beacham’s “Mondays Finish the Story” here at the Drali blog. We get a photo and a starting sentence to prompt us to write our 150 word story.

My title this week is rather ironic since my muse is absent today. I blame it on a very busy day at work. The genre for my story this week, therefore, is “wishy-washy”. It’s a few words over, but after researching the invention date of the typewriter I had to make some last minute adjustments.

The supplied sentence is in bold in my story, and to read this week’s other contributions, click on the little blue froggy.

Copyright Barbara Beacham

The old typewriter had a mind of its own. A mind, and a flair for the creative.

As quill, pencil and typewriter, Underwood (for that was now his name) had steered many of the greats. Where would they have been without him? Austen with her ridiculously-titled “Pride and Peanuts”? Or Tolkein’s “The Hedgehog” and planned three-parter “Lord of the Hedgerows”? Underwood had soon put them straight, working tirelessly behind the scenes. Even stubborn Dickens had been persuaded to change direction only three pages into “A Christmas Singalong With Mulled Wine and Whatnot”.

Now everyone used computers. Pah! Soulless machines. He would never stoop to inhabiting such a beast. A typewriter he would remain.

So he couldn’t connect to Facebook. So what? One of the greatest muses of all time, reduced to a paper weight. Yesterday’s news.

So no-one was more surprised than Underwood when his owner’s son came in from school, threw his iPad on the bed, sat at the desk, loaded some paper – and began to type.