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MFTS – Love Conquers All
Here is my contribution to Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. My genre for this week is “weird madcap nonsense”! It changes from supernatural to romantic to slap-stick in seconds :-).
We get a photo and a starting sentence and then have up to 150 words to finish the story. To view this week’s other contributions click on the blue froggy, and the supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story.
Copyright Barbara W. Beacham
After losing her head, she realized that the rest of her body was falling apart!
Not now, she thought, as her head was replaced by that of a demon, her body transforming into that of a lizard.
“You’re morphing, dear,” whispered her mum.
“How inconvenient!” growled Samantha through razor-sharp teeth.
Barry stared in shock. His wedding guests ran screaming. His bride-to-be’s sat quietly, unfazed. His best man stood trembling, rooted to the spot.
“Wha…” stammered Barry.
“Well,” his bride’s mother said, “it’s like this. We need Samantha to marry a mortal to cement her bond to this realm.”
“That’s Samantha Draconis Satanicus Wilson,” continued her dad.
“It’s still me, dear,” growled Samantha.
Barry looked into the demon’s glowing eyes, and sure enough, he saw his Samantha staring back.
“Well,” said his best man. “You’ve dated worse.”
“True!” smiled Barry. “Let’s get married!”
“Love really does conquer all!” laughed his soon-to-be-father-in-law, morphing in his excitement and accidentally decapitating a bridesmaid. “Oops!”
Everybody laughed and a great time was had by all.
A Rocky Start
It’s time once again for my contribution to Friday Fictioneers, the weekly flash fiction challenge hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was supplied by Dee Lovering.
Apparently my story last week was “a bit dark”, so this one is a bit lighter :-). So here is my idyllic honeymoon story, ably aided by the inestimable Freddy Mercury.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the little blue froggy.
Copyright Dee Lovering
“We’re here!” smiled Rex, bursting into song. “Baarrrcelo-onaaa, it was the first time that we met…”
“Quiet! People are staring!” His new wife looked embarrassed.
“Barcelo-onaaa, how can… ow! Ow!” Rex struggled to fend off Cassie’s handbag.
“Finished? Where’s this honeymoon cottage you booked, then?”
“Lisbon.”
“What? Why are we in Spain?”
“No idea,” smiled Rex. “I wondered at the time why you were booking tickets to Spain.”
“WE’RE IN THE WRONG COUNTRY!”
“Yes! Ah, Barcelona, home to… ow! Ow!”
An old couple watched them from a nearby café.
“Ouch, nasty,” commented the woman.
The man nodded sympathetically. “Must be married, love. I recognise the signs… ow! Ow!”
Nothing to Laugh About
Here is my contribution to Monday’s Finish the Story, Barbara Beacham’s weekly photo/opening sentence prompt.
I’m a bit later this week, as last night I went to see the new Avengers film at the cinema. Also, I couldn’t think of a single story. But rather than miss a week, here’s what I ended up with, for better or worse.
The opening sentence is in bold in my story, and to view this week’s other entries click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Barbara W. Beacham
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Calm down, mate.”
“Are you laughing. At. ME?” Brian repeated, more forcefully.
“No, mate. Calm down. Have you taken your meds today?”
“Are you looking at me…”
“Well, I’m looking at you because I’m talking to you.” Chad was starting to feel a little worried.
“… or are you chewing a brick?” Brian continued.
“What?”
“’Cos either way you’ll lose your teeth,” snarled Brian.
“Okay, Brian, you need to calm down,” said Chad, in as soothing a voice as he could manage. He eyed Brian’s muscular bulk warily. “Look at your happy flowers. Look at the flowers, Brian. Happy, happy flowers!”
Brian stared at the flowers. The flowers stared back. Brian snarled.
“Are you laughing at me?” Brian demanded of the flowers, bunching his fists.
“For Heaven’s sake,” muttered Chad, stomping off to find Brian’s meds.
The flowers began to tremble slightly. They saw their future in Brian’s eyes, and that future was pot-pourri.
Pioneers
It’s Friday Fictioneers time again, the weekly flash fiction challenge hosted by Rochelle over at “Addicted to Purple“. The photo this week was supplied by top fictioneerer Douglas M. MacIlroy.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy
With a gust of icy wind Jared entered the shelter. His wife looked at him eagerly, anxiously, the unspoken question hanging between them. Finally Jared shook his head and looked away.
“All of them?” asked Sheera, her voice trembling. Jared looked at his wife and nodded.
“All of them.”
“So we’re the last.” It wasn’t a question. “We’re all alone.”
Little Hanna ran in and hugged her Dad. “You’re back, you’re back!” she squealed, while in the kitchenette Sheera prepared drinks, carefully mixing a generous dosage of “Martian Deathcap” into each of the three cups.
Drinking deeply, the last surviving “Red Planet Pioneers” faded quietly away.
The Cycle of Life
Here is my contribution to Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. We get a photo and a starting sentence and then 150-ish words to finish the story.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy. The supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story below.
So without further ado, let’s join the Harris family on their educational African safari!
Copyright B.W. Beacham
The Harris Family and the Cycle of Life
They followed the buffaloes and their babies along the trail heading into the woods.
“Oh, Daddy!” exclaimed little Betty Harris. “Aren’t they cute?”
“Look at how they frolic along happily beside their parents!” added her mother. “Shall we keep following them?”
“Ooh, yes!” giggled Betty excitedly. “May we, Daddy, may we?”
“Of course!” laughed Father. Betty clapped her hands with glee.
They entered the woods and soon spotted the buffaloes at a watering hole. Father knelt down, readied his hunting rifle and pulled the trigger. The nearest buffalo baby’s head exploded, bits and pieces splashing into the water. Betty gasped.
“Father, what have you done?”
“It’s all part of the Cycle of Life,” explained Mother. “You see, we’re the dominant species and therefore we can kill all the animals!”
“All of them? Wow!” said Betty. “Father, may I have a go with the gun?”
Tune in again next week when Mother discovers the error in her “dominant species” theory in “The Harris Family and the Hideous Child-Eating Lion of Death”.
Can You Tell Me Why?
It’s Friday Fictioneers time again. Every week Rochelle supplies us with a photo prompt and we get 100 or so words in which to write our story. This week’s photo was supplied by Roger Bultot.
Here’s my rather dark story for this week, and to read all the other stories you can click on the little blue froggy.
Copyright Roger Bultot
“Can you tell me why, Jimmy?” The doctor, notepad in hand, looked at the young man sitting across from him.
“Don’t you know? Don’t you feel it too?”
“Feel what, Jimmy?”
“That rush, that surge… elation! The flames live.” His eyes became dark, furtive, his voice suddenly hushed. “They need to live.”
“And the people you’ve hurt?”
“The fire must eat. That is why the fire exists.” Cold now, dispassionate.
“Tell me about your family, Jimmy. I understand they died in an electrical fire when you were seven?”
Jimmy’s eyes gleamed. “My first. You never forget your first!”
Recommend continued psychiatric detention. Advise police reopen case 104723/A – “Matthews fire 1998”.
History Repeats
It’s Monday and that means it’s time for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. We get a photo prompt and an opening sentence plus 150 words to complete the story. For this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
The supplied sentence is in bold in my story.
Copyright Barbara W. Beacham
The neighbours were not happy about my choice of yard art.
First they tries light hearted banter.
“Blimey, mate, what’s the ‘ell’s that? Not keeping it, are you?”
After a week they’re done mincin’ words.
“Listen, chum, I’m not meaning to be rude, but that’s an eyesore, ya know? You gonna move it or what?”
I ignore them, miserable gits.
Then it gets serious. I comes out in the mornin’ and find the Native American covered wi’ paint. Makes him look somehow diseased.
I says nothing. They says nothing. They know I know it were them.
Next day, someone’s shot holes in the bison with an air rifle. The day after that, the Native American has both his arms shot off. These neighbours come over from England couple a’ years previous. Settlers, you might say. Suddenly I got a diseased-looking Native American and a shot bison.
Funny how history repeats. Maybe tomorrow I’ll complete the cycle and scalp the bastards.
Here Today…
It’s Friday Fictioneers time, hosted by Rochelle.
I haven’t felt very well the last couple of days and couldn’t come up with anything cleverly witty, but I finally put something together. This week’s photo comes from Jennifer Pendergast.
To read all the other stories for this week, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Jennifer Pendergast
Bartholomew stared out across the desert, watching it shimmer in the heat. Seemingly barren, he knew it teemed with life. Such rugged beauty, stretching endlessly into the distance, a primitive land where only the strong could survive.
He reached into his backpack and retrieved his camera, snapping off a shot. “Desert framed by Railway Carriage” would look good on his wall, he thought.
Finally tearing his gaze from the awe-inspiring sight, he motioned with his hand. The sides of the carriages dropped, disgorging trucks, bulldozers, all manner of equipment.
The desert’s all very well, he thought, but everybody loves a mall.
No Happy Endings
Here is my contribution for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story.
We get a photo and a starting sentence and then 150 words on top. It appears to be fairy tale time this week, so that’s what I’ve written! Thanks to my rather odd sense of humour, my story makes me laugh. Ha ha.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy. The supplied sentence is in bold in my story.
Copyright Barbara W. Beacham
Once upon a time in a land far, far away there lived a pixie called Mike. Pixie Mike.
All the other pixies made fun of him. They all had cool pixie names while Pixie Mike was stuck with “Mike”. Floats With Flowers, Runs With Unicorns and Sleeps With Fairies never stopped taunting him.
Pixie Mike was very upset.
One day a great evil came to Pixie Land and all the other pixies ran to hide. Pixie Mike saw his chance to save Pixie Land! The other pixies would never make fun of him again. All he had to do was cross the Chasm of Terror and retrieve the Orb of Light.
He stepped tentatively onto the bridge and inched across. “I’m going to make it!” he thought.
But halfway across he slipped, fell into the chasm and broke both his legs. Because real life’s not a fairy tale. Bad things happen.
And nobody lived happily ever after. Especially not Pixie Mike, who finally got his pixie name. Stumbles and Splatters.
Mind the Step
It’s Friday Fictioneers time, hosted by Rochelle. Here’s a rather silly story befitting quite a mad photo, which came to us from Lauren Moscato by way of Amy Reese.
You’d think I’d have a million ideas for this photo, but no. Or perhaps the problem is that I have a million ideas but no decent ending. Here’s what I decided on in the end.
To see this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Lauren Moscato
Sitting in their van, the builders watched as a dog shot out of the doggie door, pedalled its legs comically in mid-air and then crashed to the ground.
“When he said ‘add a second storey’, d’ya think he meant ‘on the top’?” asked one.
“Dunno,” said the other. “If that’s what he wanted, he should have said so. I taped a sign to his door, just in case.”
“What’d it say?”
“Mind the step.”
“Nice.”
The door opened and a very irate owner stared out.
“Did he pay up front?”
“Yup.”
“Good. Let’s get out of here before he finds a ladder.”
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