draliman on life

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. She also supplied the photo this week!

This one is so madcap crazy it made me smile 🙂 So don’t expect a deep and meaningful discourse on man’s ability to litter even the most picturesque of spots.

Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“Ah, walking in the woods, listening to the birds…”

THUMP!

“Well, what’re the odds?”

“Yeah, I know, right? We finally get out in the sunshine and a fridge falls on Roger. Must have fallen out a plane. I’d sue. Hey Roger, I’d sue!”

“I don’t think he can hear you. I wonder what’s inside?”

Creak

“Hey, it’s Roger!”

“Hi guys! The back of the fridge was missing, I ended up inside!”

“Well, that seems unlikely.”

“It does. I think we’re dreaming…”

Woo-ooo-ooo…

“Yep. We were dreaming. Roger’s been flattened alright. I can see his arm sticking out.”

“Well, shit.”

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

Copyright Dale Rogerson

Trigg sat in his restaurant, so quiet without customers, and tucked into braised steak. He’d planned for everything. With storerooms stocked, employees furloughed and loans in place, he knew his hotel would weather the lockdown with ease.

He smiled as he took another sip of premium wine. He was completely pandemic-proof.

That night an avalanche, dislodged by unseasonably-warm weather, dumped a million tonnes of snow on his hotel, smashing it to bits and smearing him across five miles of mountainside.

Yep. Climate change is still a “thing”, pandemic notwithstanding.

It’s hard to plan for everything.

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

Copyright C.E. Ayr

“That’s weird.”

“What?”

“We burned everything. All our relationship stuff. Except that picture. That picture didn’t burn.”

“Okay…”

“It’s Paris. Where we met.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t it burn? Maybe it’s a sign.”

“A sign.”

“That we should stay together. Maybe someone’s trying to tell us something.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe we could… try again?”

“No. We’re past all that. It’s over.”

“So… so. Right. Who gets the Paris picture? Do you want it?”

“No. You take it. You were always more into… Paris… than I was.”

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

Bit of a rushed one this week. Very busy day, and the photo didn’t immediately bring anything to mind except our current rather deserted cities.

Copyright Roger Bultot

Ben laughed in delight. The view was magnificent! Above, the aircraft was just a smudge against the clouds; below, the city rushed towards him. He fancied he could already see people, tiny little dots, scurrying about their lives.

All around he saw his friends deploy their parachutes. He grinned. What a great idea this skydiving was! He pulled the cord. A flap opened and his lunch fell out.

Well, that was just bloody typical. Trust him to pick up his rucksack instead of his parachute. What an idiot!

Ah well, live and learn. Well, not in this case, maybe.

SPLAT

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

Guess who forgot what day it was? Me! That’s why I’m a day later than usual.

Copyright Jeff Arnold

Always chasing the rainbow. That was Sebastian. Never standing still. Never appreciating the “now”.

Margie couldn’t stand it any longer. She needed stability.

She made a deal.

Sealed in blood.

With a Leprechaun.

Okay, sealed in shamrock. Puréed. With a nice Chianti.

Next day Sebastian chased a rainbow and never came back.

Possibly he’s still chasing it.

The Leprechaun’s due back next week to extract his price.

Who could be sacrificed to satisfy his bloodlust? Not Margie, that’s for sure.

Her sister-in-law’s really been pissing her off lately…

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Douglas M. MacIlroy.

Copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy

“Oh, man, I’m not sure how much longer I can stay cooped up in…”

“Shh! Look!”

“Wow, a little bird! Shh, don’t scare him.”

“He’s just going about his business. Doesn’t know about the problems of humans.”

“Let’s get a little closer!”

“Yes!”

“Able still to explore the world while we’re isolating.”

“Amazing, huh? Look at his beautiful feathers!”

“Yep. Aw, during all this and then this amazing thing happens. Takes your breath away.”

“It does. Now, carefully…”

Click. BANG! Squaaaaawk. Thud.

“We may be out of toilet paper, but we’ll eat well tonight! Roast budgie, sparrow, whatever!”

“Magic!”

Here is my contribution for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Jeff Arnold.

Copyright Jeff Arnold

“Wow, amazing! Feel those keys! What is it?”

“Ahem. A typewriter, Sir.”

“I see, yes! It writes as you type. Ingenious! Magnificent! A work of art!”

“Would Sir wish to purchase?”

“Of course! How do you connect the WiFi?”

“WiFi, Sir? WIFI? It has no WiFi!”

“What, now? No WiFi? What a stinking pile of crap!”

“Your language, Sir, forces me to eject your presence. I shall take a Polaroid of your aspect for our ‘banned’ wall.”

Click! Bzzzz. Whirrr.

“Oh, wow! A photo came out, ready made! Magnificent! I want one! I assume it Bluetooths to my Instagram?”

“GET OUT!”

Here is my contribution to Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by J Hardy Carroll.

Copyright J Hardy Carroll

“I say, what spiffing advertising! Look, darling! A car atop a plinth!”

“My, yes! Let’s go inside. I say, you, scruffy unkempt local person, where’s the door?”

“Up thar. In th’ car.”

“What ho, that’s pretty rum! Let’s fetch a ladder! What fun! Thanks, aged country bumpkin!”

“Jed, wha’re them city folks a-doin wi’ that thar ladder?”

“I tol’ ‘em the diner were up thar.”

“In th’ car?”

“Arr.”

“Dumb townies. Look, it’s-a startin’ ta fall unner the weight.”

Crump!

“Two less city folks, ah reckon.”

“Arr. No bad thing.”

“No bad thing.”

“Pint?

“Arr.”

Here is my contribution for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by CE Ayr.

I’m a bit late this week. A combination of too much work and lack of ideas. So I ended up with this one in the end. Don’t you just hate it when you have ideas for lots of stories, but can’t think of any actual endings…?

Copyright CE Ayr

He listened to the trickle of the fountain. The only sound.

Alone. All alone. Maybe the last human?

Virus had spread panic. They they came. Visitors.

From another world.

Promised a cure. Governments agreed.

They delivered the cure. People got better.

They had saved us! Cured the virus.

Their virus.

Then people stopped giving birth. Slowly. Surely. The population dwindled.

Hell of an invasion plan. Virus, to “cure”, to sterility, to… a nice empty planet, ripe for colonisation.

His breathing slowed, stopped. The last human?

If a fountain trickles and there’s no-one to hear it, does it make a sound?

Here is my contribution to Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This weeks’ photo was contributed by Roger Bultot.

Copyright Roger Bultot

“Tamatahs, 50p the pahhhhhnd…”

“Um excuse me, sir, you don’t have any, um, tomatoes…”

“It’s wot I say, guv’nor. How abaht some nice apples?”

“Oh, yes, please!”

“Why not make it da full staircase?”

“…?”

“Apples ‘n pears. Stairs.”

“Oh, yes, of course! You salt of the Earth chaps with your Cockney rhyming slang!”

“Salt of da WHAT?”

SMACK!

“Umph…”

Hey, Harry, that means grass roots working geezer!

“Ah, shit. Sorry. Here’s some apples on da haaas, I’ll stick ‘em in dis bag wiv yer teef.”

“Umph…”

“’Av a good suck on dem ‘til yer mouf is fixed…”

“Umph…”

“Tamatahs, 50p the pahhhhhnd…”