draliman on life

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

Copyright Dale Rogerson

Millions queued to ride the Peace Wheel.

It had appeared overnight, a mystery. Shortly after, the crime rate dropped to zero. Countries dismantled their arsenals and armies. Warlords took up farming. People the world over stopped concentrating on jobs, on ambitions.

Hate, the will to fight, disappeared. People were suddenly “getting along” with each other.

Hidden in high orbit, Dresh N’Gak smiled. In days the population of this backwards backwater planet would have lost all self-will. They would be ripe for conquest! He twisted a dial, increasing signal strength.

The “Peace Wheel” thrummed with renewed energy.

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

Another story which came straight into my head. Yay!

Copyright Anshu Bhojnagarwala

“What the hell is that?”

“I got it from the dump. Pretty great, huh?”

“It’s got a tree growing out of it.”

“You’ve heard of house music? Garage?”

“Yessss….”

“This is gonna be ‘Plant’.”

“Jesus.”

“Here goes…”

Thunk! Crash!

A cat’s tail, poking out from beneath the rubble, twitched once and was still.

“YOU KILLED MR FLUFFY, YOU MURDERER!”

“Maybe it was a bit knackered. I saw a guitar with mushrooms growing out of it down the dump… ‘Fungus’! Awesome!”

Meanwhile Mr Fluffy, one of his nine lives sadly gone, extricated himself and trotted away in search of a less insane human.

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

Copyright C.E. Ayr

Jeff bid goodbye to his mates and left the pub. The other members of the motorcycle gang left en masse but Jeff slunk around the corner to his piddly little moped. As his fellows roared off on their testosterone-fuelled hogs, Jeff opened his throttle and charged off at his top speed of 17mph, head down.

But – too late! He had been spotted! The video was online! Jeff’s street cred was ruined!

Don’t let this happen to you. Visit Mike’s Bikes today! Get yourself a Harley!

10% discount for members of the Death’s Head Slasher Biker Gang

Don’t be a Jeff!

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.

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.

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!”

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.”

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.”

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.

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

Warning: there are a couple of slightly rude words in my story for comic effect.

Copyright Dale Rogerson

“Great, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful.” No.

“We’ll be the talk of the neighbourhood!”

“We certainly will be.” … a laughing stock.

“Just wait till everyone comes round later!”

“It’ll be simply marvellous!” I feel a headache coming on.

“So, are you happy?”

“Deliriously, my love.” Shoot me now.

“What do you think, Benny?”

“It’s crap, Dad. Why can’t we have a proper Christmas tree instead of bits of sticky tape… shit, did I say that out loud? I meant, it’s amazing, father!”

“Thank you, Benny. A little more practice on your inner voice, please.”

“Of course, Father.” Piss off.

“Much better.”