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Pegman – Land of Dreams
Here is my story for What Pegman Saw which this week is set in Fiji. Sorry I haven’t read anyone else’s yet but I like to come up with a story before subconsciously robbing other people’s ideas.
Copyright Brendan Madden and Google
“Fellow world leaders, advisors and scientists. Welcome to the International Conference on Climate Change.”
Claps
“News has been received. News which will change the course of our work forever!”
Cheers
“We have decided to end all work to combat so-called climate change, as it doesn’t exist.”
Gasps
“No, my fellows, wait, please. We have received an anonymous communique via social media which is highly literate, indubitably based in solid science and clearly true. I shall read it now.”
“Global warming? Hah. It’s freezing here. Chance would be a fine thing. FAKE NEWS! Stop wasting money or I’ll push my red button and it’s bigger than yours. Climate change? NO!”
Back to claps.
Everyone went home.
Nobody did anything.
Fiji drowned.
FF – Tangled
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The photo was contributed by Victor and Sarah Potter.
I don’t even know what I’ve written this week. It’s a bit silly. Me? Silly? Surely not.
Copyright Victor and Sarah Potter
Three homes with three families. Kids all over the place, probably more he didn’t know about. Bank accounts everywhere. Identities out the wazoo – even he sometimes got confused who he was supposed to be from one day to the next.
Scamming him, conning her, no wait, she was to be family number four – or was she? Scam or marry? Or both?
How to keep everything in order?
Circles within circles. Webs cast everywhere. How long before one of those webs caught him?
The heat was on.
It’s a complicated life being a gigolo con-spider.
Pegman – Grand Adventure
Here is my story for What Pegman Saw. This week we are in Syria.
Copyright Google
“I can’t believe this. I really can’t.”
“It’ll be okay, Hun. It’s a mistake anybody could have made.”
“No, Dear. Just you. I mean, honestly. We should have been sitting in beautiful Sicily, instead of which…”
“I know, I know, we’re stuck in a sand storm in a war zone.”
“Syria. Syracuse. They’re not that similar.”
“I wondered why we needed visas. At least there’s sand. Pretend we’re at the beach. It’ll be a grand adventure!”
“…”
“Never mind, love of my life, we’ll soon be on our way to romantic Paris. All this will seem like a bad dream. Ah, freshly-baked croissants in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower.”
“Let me see those tickets. Ah yes. Well done. Two seats to Paris. Texas.”
“Hmm. I wondered why we needed visas.”
“I want a divorce.”
FF – A Dirty Job
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo comes from Roger Bultot.
Copyright Roger Bultot
Jerak snuck a glance at the scene around him as he pushed his mop across the floor. He was supposed to keep his head down, but sick fascination always enticed him to look.
Men, women, even children sat on benches, long white tubes fixed to their heads. They seemed calm enough – Jerak had been told that the tubes delivered some enzyme or other, easing the process.
He hated his work here at the Farm, but it was classed essential. It meant he’d never be Chosen. Never be one of those sitting on the benches. Never be food for the alien masters.
FF – League of Science
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Ted Strutz.
Copyright Ted Strutz
The group of esteemed scientists laughed scornfully.
“By God, man, you’ll never achieve membership of the World Science League with that thing!”
“I beg to differ, Sir,” smiled Ignacious, initiating his machine. Gears ground. Wheels spun.
“By good Queen Victoria, what is it man?!”
Their derision, however, gave way to wide eyes as the wheels rotated, matching their brain waves. A disc flew off, neatly decapitating Dr Munsch of Oxford. The others, hypnotised, hardly noticed even as they too fell.
“I propose myself for membership of the League!” giggled Ignacious manically. “Any objections?” He eyed the carnage. “No? Then, carried!”
Pegman – Merry Star Wars Christmas
Here is my story for What Pegman Saw, which this week takes us to North Pole, Alaska.
Hopefully you guys have either seen Star Wars or are familiar with the story, or this story’s going to be reasonably nonsensical.
I have just cooked a nice ham so the kitchen smells all hammy and I have been indulging in my Christmas Eve tradition – wrapping presents while watching the greatest Christmas film ever made – Die Hard. I’m just at the bit where there’s “four assholes coming in the rear in standard two by two cover formation”.
Copyright Google
And yea did it come to pass that Santa was seduced by the Dark Side, and verily were there no more presents. And it is written that, lo, young Fluke Skyhumper did come to Santa, for verily was Fluke the son of Santa.
And thus spake he, “I feel the good in you, Father (Christmas),” and lo did Santa reply unto him “Thee wilt join me on the Dark Side,” and verily did Fluke refuse.
And thus did they fight, yet neither wouldst kill the other, for kin they were, yea verily. And so didst Santa’s evil master Emperor Rudolph’s nose glow red and did emit lasers unto Fluke. And then did Santa attack Rudolph and did save his son Fluke, yet Santa, returned to good, was gravely wounded, yea verily, and didst he die.
And so endeth this tale, yet never more were there presents, for Santa had perished. Merry Christmas 🙂
Note: this is a work of fiction. Santa is of course alive and well and will be delivering presents as usual this Christmas. Yea verily.
FF – Not a Hat Shop
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Björn Rudberg.
This amount of hats just begged for a crazy Monty Python-esque scene.
Copyright Björn Rudberg
“Good day to you, Sir, and how may I help you?”
“Good day, Sir. I have need of a hat.”
“You are in luck, Sir, for we are a hat shop.”
“I see no hats, Sir.”
“Look around you, Sir, a veritable cornucopia of hats!”
“Ye-gads, Sir, no hats do I see!”
“Are you perhaps visually impaired, Sir?”
“The cheek! Since you have no hats I shall try one of your knitted tea-cosies. Perhaps that will keep my head warm. Yes, I’ll take it!”
“Of course, Sir.”
“These tea-cosies make excellent hats, Sir! Consider selling them as such.”
“Harrumph.”
Pegman – Lost Souls
Here is my story for What Pegman Saw, which takes us to Buckhorn, Iowa. It is the one year anniversary, though I haven’t been doing it for that long, and this is where it started!
I’m quite late this week with my story. I have a nasty cold – chesty cough, headache, the full shebang, and my brain refused to come up with a story. I finally got there, so here it is 🙂 Hope it reads okay, I had to edit out 60-odd words.
Copyright Google
The bus drew up and the children disembarked. The graveyard seemed to stretch on forever.
“This is the Graveyard of Lost Souls,” explained Miss Tembleton. “Can anyone tell me why it’s called that?”
A small boy raised his hand. “Because no-one knows where the souls went, Miss.”
“That’s correct. During the early days of the Soul Wars, we didn’t know how to help those affected. Their bodies died but their life essence lingered.”
The children shuddered. “So where are they, Miss?”
“We don’t know. Floating around the place, maybe? I’m joking, of course. Now, back on the bus.”
She felt a coldness seep into her body, heard the Voice in her mind.
Well done, Tembleton. Continue to bring us vessels and your own children will remain safe.
Shivering, she looked around. Two of the children had strange looks on their faces, their eyes seeming far too old for their eight-year-old bodies.
FF – Globe
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Sandra Crook.
Copyright Sandra Crook
The Globe had stood for millennia, its origins shrouded by time, its purpose a mystery. The villagers, simple yet devout, came to pray for health, love… deliverance from the Down-Below.
Two such came now, kneeling in reverence before the globe. It burst suddenly to life, bright light blinding them! They cowered, whimpering, as a being, dark and foreboding, spoke.
“I’ve told you already, keep the noise down. And why are you sitting in the dark? If I have to come up here again…”
“Sorry, Mum.”
“Sorry, Mrs Daniels.”
And with that, the being returned to the Down-Below, the villagers safe again.
Pegman – The King
Here is my story for What Pegman Saw which this week sees us at the Palace of Versailles.
Copyright from Google Maps
Pierre waited in the gilded antechamber, readying his performance. His anxiety increased. To play at the Palace of Versailles – an honour to be sure – was nerve-wracking in itself, but rumours were that the King himself would be in attendance. If true it was huge indeed – the King was thought dead.
The curtains opened leaving Pierre feeling exposed. Peering into the crowd, he was sure he caught a glimpse of the King’s trademark clothing – high-necked, glittering like the sun. He sat at the piano and started to play, adding his voice to the melody.
He finished, stood and bowed.
Silence.
All eyes turned to the King.
The King proclaimed in his deep voice, “Unoriginal. Return to sender, you hound dog. Thank you. Thank you very much,” struck a pose and left.
“Huh,” thought Pierre. “I hate Vegas. And the Palace of Versailles Casino and Ballroom can kiss my butt.”
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