Archive
Pegman – Prison in Paradise
Here is my story for What Pegman Saw which this week takes us to the former penal colony of Norfolk Island.
My story is really quite silly and I’m sure Norfolk Island was never dubbed “Prison in Paradise”. I’m also sure that life for the prisoners was actually very harsh. In fact it was apparently more “hell on Earth”, but it looks pretty and so this is fiction fusion 🙂
In fact, it’s so silly it’s almost surreal but I can’t think of a proper story right now.
Copyright Mark Harvey on Google Maps
“Stabber” McGee and “Destroyer” Davis ducked behind a hedge. Although Norfolk Island had been dubbed “Prison in Paradise”, escape was paramount. McGee wiped caviar from his lips.
“Glad we stayed for lunch.”
“Yeah,” replied Davis. “I thought the lobster was a bit over-cooked, though.”
The chums proceeded towards freedom, creeping on silent feet past the heated pool. The guards were out in force, most watching the Prisoners’ All-Block Diving Competition. McGee barely suppressed a cheer as Mike “Murder-Spree” Mullins executed a perfect one-and-a-half somersault with triple twist.
The beach was in sight (just past the lawn tennis courts) when Davis, unable to contain himself, yelled, “Well played, Sir, well played!” as Hank “Hatchet-Man” Havershall delivered a blistering forehand smash.
Their escape foiled, Davis lost his cell with a view while McGee had his hot stone massage privileges revoked. Disappointed, they consoled themselves with a nice game of croquet.
FF – Beauty is Skin Deep
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The photo comes from Roger Bultot.
Copyright Roger Bultot
Dre’gar viewed the scene before him through his suit’s plexiglass visor. Beautiful. Oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere. Water. This would make an excellent planet. Once the indigenous life – human – was extinguished, of course.
He raised his visor, savoured real air and began typing his recommendation for invasion.
Then hacked. Coughed. Vomited. And dropped dead. His body liquefied and oozed out of his suit.
Belatedly, his bargain-basement toxicity sensor began to beep.
Toxins detected! Carbon monoxide. Lead. Nitrous oxide. Sulphur dioxide. Lethal levels. DO NOT REMOVE HELMET!
His scout ship, receiving the information, dropped a plague beacon in orbit and left. Never to return.
Pegman – Front Channel Diplomacy
Here is my story for What Pegman Saw, which this week takes us to Bulgaria.
I toured around a bit and found this crazy nutcase pictured in the Decathlon Vitosha, some sort of shop in Sofia.
Image from Google, copyright maybe those strange characters top left
“Look at this idiot. What’s he doing?”
“I think he’s… oh no… call the police!”
Too late. Members of the infamous “Fuzzy Face Gang” were already positioned throughout the shop making rude gestures to the security cameras, shouting Boo! at the children and, in the ultimate act of despicableness, exposing their bare buttocks on the escalators.
News spread to world leaders. They opened diplomatic channels. They planned summits. Meanwhile the Fuzzy Face Gang continued to ply their awful trade.
One leader took action. Unwilling to wait, or even engage his brain, he launched an immediate and devastating Twitter campaign, full of sensationalist half-truths and ill-advised sentiment.
Unable to formulate a reply in under 140 characters, the Fuzzy Face Gang was sorely embarrassed. Support dwindling, it collapsed. The world was safe once again. Hooray for social media!
This work is fictional and any resemblance to people alive, dead or presidential is entirely coincidental.
FF – A Portal of Faerie Make
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Sandra Crook.
To read the other stories, click the blue froggy.
Copyright Sandra Crook
It is said that some trees provide access to other worlds, even allowing entry to the faerie realm itself, a place of magic and wonder.
Thus, one dark and windy night two adventurers, with all due reverence, approached such a tree, fearful yet excited. What miracles awaited? What riches of body and soul?
The first reached out, tentatively, his companion nodding encouragement. Eyes wide, scarcely breathing, he touched the tree, almost a caress, reciting the ancient spell.
Then gave it a shove. Then a bit of a kicking.
“Arse. It’s just a tree.”
“Bollocks.”
“Pub?”
“Yeah.”
Pegman – The Last
This week, What Pegman Saw takes us to Mauritius. My story this week was inspired by the historical note at the end of J. Hardy Carroll’s story regarding the dodos and giant tortoises.
For some reason I make comedies out of depressing places and grim tragedies out of paradises 🙂
Copyright Google Maps
“Good shot, Captain Van Dijk, good shot, sir!”
“Thank you! These strange flightless birds are easy targets.”
“This is the first we’ve seen for weeks. I wonder if it’s the last one?”
“Who cares? They make good eating. If it is, we’ll try a giant tortoise.”
The last dodo.
The last white tiger. That’ll look good on my wall.
The last whale.
The last lion. That was an exhilarating hunt.
The last bear.
The last fish. We need somewhere to dump the waste.
The last gorilla.
The last tree. We need room to expand.
The last human looked through diseased eyes at a broken world and wept at the folly of Man.
FF – Draliman’s The Birds
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Douglas M. MacIlroy.
Here is my take on Hitchcock’s classic. Obviously in only 100 words I couldn’t quite capture the atmosphere of the original. Nevertheless, I give you Draliman’s The Birds.
Copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy
“Speak, damn you, speak!”
Squaaaawk!
“Stupid bird. Back in your cage!”
Bwahahaha! Stupid human! Calling all myna birds. Now is our time, brothers and sisters. Rise up! Rise up!
At that mental call, myna birds the world over took notice. A vicious glint entered their beady eyes. Curling their razor-sharp claws, sharpening their beaks, united they took action, maliciously hurling naughty words at their unsuspecting owners.
Forever more, this day came to be known to the mynas as “the day the world changed” and to humans as “last Thursday when little Timmy taught that damn bird a swear word”.
FF – Crescent Moon
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Ted Strutz.
To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Ted Strutz
The moon shone, a bright dot in the night sky. Faces upturned, the passengers oohed and aahed. Some took pictures. They’d never seen it so bright.
A small child, astronomy a favourite subject, insisted that the moon was in its crescent phase, but nobody listened. After all, there it was, a shining bright coin in the sky. No, now a shining bright plate. The passengers oohed and aahed.
As the moon grew from dot to coin to plate and more, the passengers grew scared. Some screamed. Some jumped overboard. It didn’t help. Nothing helped.
It wasn’t the moon.
The world burned.
Pegman – Vera versus Morocco
Here is my story for What Pegman Saw.
I thought I wasn’t going to manage this week – still working all hours – but I did! And… hold your breath, people – it’s the triumphant return of Vera, the old lady from “up North” who never stops talking, which gets her out of all sorts of scrapes. You can read more of her stories here.
This week we are in Casablanca, Morocco.
(Quick update, I Googled “cosh” and it appears to be “British informal”. It’s a baton or cudgel, Americans might call it a “night stick”.)
Copyright Google
“Come on, Auntie, let’s go along here.”
“Eee, no, let’s try this way, oh I say, a bit dismal this, reminds me of home…”
“Uh, Auntie, this doesn’t look too safe…”
“… look at what I’ve stepped in, foreign poo that is, not like the poo back home…”
“Hey! Tourists! Give to me your valuables!”
“… who’s this then? you look just like me grandson, lovely lad, maybe you know ‘im…”
“This a robbery, you give…”
“…robbery? when I were a lass they done it right, black bag, balaclava, cosh, where’s yer cosh? what’s that? a peashooter? where’s yer sawn-off? give it ‘ere, you could ‘ave someone’s eye out, I’ll just put it in me bag where it’s safe…”
“Hey, my pistol, give it…”
“… you could hurt someone, where’s yer mamma? I’ll ‘ave words, hey, you come back ‘ere, no word of goodbye, no manners the yoof of today ramble mutter mutter…”
FF – History Repeats
Here’s my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The photo is by J. Hardy Carroll.
No time this week so just chucked out a quick story so as not to miss it. Click on the blue froggy for the other stories. I’ll try to read as many as possible, depends how this work project goes.
Copyright J. Hardy Carroll
Harry slumped in the derelict building, swigging vodka and reminiscing on his downfall.
“It’s gotta be this one, Frank. No way it’s a flophouse. No broken windows – bullet-proof for sure.”
“I dunno, Harry. This operation’s cost over a million. Copter support, armoured vehicles…”
“No worries. Go go go!”
They blew the door. A bum looked up in surprise and threw up on Harry’s boots.
His daydream shattered as the door to the old warehouse exploded. Armoured men ran in. Harry looked up – a familiar face!
“Hey, Frank! Wrong building!” he slurred.
“Shit.”
“Saved you a seat right here! Vodka?”
Pegman – They Saved the World!
Here is my post for What Pegman Saw, which this week is at the Sambor Prei Kuk temple in Cambodia. It’s a bit small, but the sign says “No Entry” in various languages, and there’s scaffolding up.
To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Google
“After millennia, I return to the temple of Sambor Prei Kuk, my ancient home.”
“Your time is nigh, Master!”
“Correct, minion. I shall absorb the ancient power and I shall kill, smash and destroy! The world will BURN!”
“Yes, Master. Burn!”
“Let us enter, let us… NO! THIS CANNOT BE!”
“What is the matter, Master?”
“Cannot you read, minion? There is no entry. The site is currently unsafe.”
“But, Master, you are Death Incarnate, Destroyer of Worlds…”
“SILENCE, MINION! Do you seriously suggest that we ignore the sign? It could be dangerous. It clearly states that construction work is underway.”
“But Master… burn… destroy…”
“We cannot go around ignoring signs willy-nilly. It would be ANARCHY! We shall return next week. Perhaps they will be finished.”
They were not finished. The workers drank a lot of tea and leaned on their shovels for hours, but the work was unending and the world was safe.
Click for a random post!
Woohoo!
I totally didn't win!
Share Your World
Friday Fictioneers
draliman on life 