draliman on life

Here is my contribution to Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. We get a photo, 150 words and an opening sentence, which is in bold in my story.

This week’s other stories can be found by clicking the blue froggy.

I have no idea what this photo is. Maybe the DraliFiction team have an idea? Let’s listen in…

Copyright B.W. Beacham

“I see absolutely everything.”

“Well, I see absolutely nothing. What the hell is it?”

“Dunno. Could be a lizard, maybe? Or a fish?”

“Hmm, let’s see. A fishy story. Let’s brainstorm some titles. ‘Close Encounters of the Fishy Kind’.”

“’Rebel without a fish’.”

“’Live and Let Fish’.”

“Ha ha!”

“Ha ha! Or maybe it’s an alien?”

“What, like, ‘insert-name-here’ sneaks across the border, and pursued by police his only chance to survive is…”

“A space alien, dumbass.”

“I seriously doubt our Babs got an actual photo of an actual space alien. We would’ve heard. There would’ve been news stories, failed attempts to communicate, exploding cities, the last vestiges of humanity struggling to survive in a broken world and whatnot.”

“So we’re back to ‘fish’, then?”

“’Spose so. Typing fingers on standby? This is gonna be epic.”

“Ready to go! Bring on the epic.”

“Righty-ho… ‘Once upon a time there was a fish named Pete’…”

“Awesome opening, mate!”

It’s time for Mondays Finish the Story, Barbara Beacham’s photo/opening sentence challenge. This week’s topic was suggested by J.A. at Living Authors Society. The supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story below.

To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright B.W. Beacham

“Where did they go?”

“Don’t know,” replied Juan.

Pedro hefted his aged assault rifle. “I don’t like this. Everyone should be here. They said to come at once.”

“Perhaps the Iron Dogs killed them? They’ve always been jealous of our cartel’s success,” replied Juan.

They slipped closer, alert for any movement.

“Silent as the grave,” whispered Juan as they approached.

“I hope ‘grave’ is not an apt choice of words, my friend.”

The pair entered the open courtyard, trigger fingers twitching. Suddenly there was movement all around as yelling shapes jumped out of the shadows.

“SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTH…”

Taken completely by surprise, the pair’s combat training took over.

“RAT-A-TAT-A-TAT!”

Bullets flew, blood sprayed in a red mist, bodies blew apart. In seconds it was over.

“Oh, shit,” said Juan, as a bullet-ridden banner proclaiming “Happy Birthday, Juan!” fluttered sadly to the ground.

Pedro picked his way through the carnage of Juan’s family to a trestle table. “Happy birthday, man. Cake?”

Here is my contribution to Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. We get an opening sentence (in bold in my story) plus 150 words to write a story in response to a photo.

Click on the froggy for this week’s other stories.

Copyright B.W. Beacham

He thought he found the perfect hiding spot.

“This’ll do,” thought Drexel, Imp of the Realm of Embarrassing Incidents. “He’ll never find me here!”

Not only had Drexel snuck out of the Netherhells, shifted realities and travelled half way across the universe, but he’d also found a handy curtain to hide behind.

“Finally free!” he thought. “They may send the Hounds of the Netherhells after me to eat my flesh. They may send the Renders of Doom to tear me limb from limb. They may even send the Gatekeeper of the Hopeless Realms to eat my brains. But all for nought. They will never find me! My plan is faultless, bwahahaha…”

“I SEE YOU!” boomed a voice from the other side of the curtain.

“Shit.” It was GRaw’Que Gan, the hideous and evil Prince of the Demesne of Unfortunate Mishaps.

“YOUR PAWS ARE STICKING OUT, MORON. MY TURN TO HIDE NOW.”

Drexel covered his eyes with his paws. “One, two, three…”

Here is my contribution to Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. I apologise that this is my second flash fiction of the day, but I have been leaving things rather late this past week.

The supplied sentence to go with the prompt picture is in bold in my story, and you can read this week’s other contributions by clicking on the blue froggy.

Copyright B. W. Beacham

The petroglyphs told the story of an unusual event.

“By Jove,” remarked Pinkerton-Smythe excitedly. “Look at this, Pendergast!”

The two smartly dressed gentlemen perused the carvings.

“On the right,” continued Pinkerton-Smythe, “we have an attack by wild animals, see there?”

Pendergast nodded.

“And here, look, concentric circles indicating the tribe’s wanderings to escape these attacks. Here they climb mountains in their trek – it seems as if they constructed ladders to help. We see them hunting as they walk, and here these squiggly lines, a river, undoubtedly.”

“I do see, old chap.”

“And here at last you see, bottom left, they arrive in a forest and make their home.”

“I say, this carving is exquisite! I must have it, Pinkerton-Smythe! You there, ten million for this!”

Five thousand years ago…

“Wumpa! What have I told you about doodling on your dad’s table top? He’ll be so mad! And where did you get that chisel? Put it back at once!”

“Aww, Mum, I bet it’ll be worth a fortune one day!”

Here is my story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. We get an opening sentence which this week was written by Martin Furman, and a photo courtesy of Barbara herself.

To read this week’s other stories click on the blue froggy. My story is a little longer than 150 words (sorry) but I did manage to get it down from nearly 200. The opening line (which isn’t part of the word count) is in bold in my story.

Copyright Barbara W Beacham

Delphine always wanted to pilot her father’s plane and when he forgot his keys on her tenth birthday, she knew that taking off would be easy.

Come to think of it, landing would also be easy. Dead easy. With an emphasis on dead. But Delphine didn’t come to think of it and now she was soaring through the air, staring at a bewildering array of controls.

“Come on,” she thought. “I’ve seen Daddy do this enough times.” Heart pounding, she eased the stick forward as the ground came closer, closer. “I’m going to do it!” she thought excitedly. “Daddy will be so proud of…”

Trephos, Angel-In-Charge of Juvenile Admissions climbed down off his cloud.

“Well,” he said, shaking his head. “Made a bit of a pig’s ear of that landing, didn’t we?”

Delphine nodded sadly.

“Let’s see,” he continued, reaching for a large ledger. “Wow! You’re our one trillionth customer! That means you get a second chance!”

Suddenly Delphine was back home, alive, staring at her Dad’s keys. She grabbed them and ran out the door.

“I think I know what I did wrong last time!” she thought excitedly as she ran towards the plane.

Here is my contribution to Mondays Finish the Story, hosted by Barbara Beacham. This week it is using my opening line!

We get around 150 words to finish the story based on an opening sentence (in bold in my story) and a photo.

To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright BW Beacham

The barista shook his head. That hedge couldn’t have moved closer overnight. Could it?

The next day it was half-way to the door. The barista rubbed his eyes but said nothing, fearing that the madness that had inflicted his late grandfather was taking hold.

Two days later, they were in the shop! Now everybody noticed. The barista’s relief that his sanity was intact was short-lived, however, as the hedge slithered towards him.

“Wha… what do you want?” he screeched, trembling.

“How rude!” said one of the hedge-people.

“Whatever happened to ‘Good morning, may I take your order’?” muttered another.

“Cappuccinos all round!” said a third. The barista breathed a sigh of relief. “And one more thing…” (the barista’s heart thumped in his chest) “… a plate of blueberry muffins!” The barista smiled and filled their order. All that worry and panic over nothing.

At their table, the hedge-people were talking.

“Lovely coffee, that!”

“Lovely. Delicious muffins!”

“Delicious! Right, everyone finished? Good. Okay, let’s kill these hedge-trimming human bastards. Who’s got the Huge Ball of Destruction?”

Here is my story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. The supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story, and to read this week’s other contributions, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright B. W. Beacham

The Mayor and the town manager waved as their next victim approached.

But Agent Simon Wilkins had come prepared. He’d seen what had happened to the others who’d received an invitation. They wandered around town with dead eyes, occasionally clutching their heads screaming, “No more, please, no more!” before slipping once more into a listless half-dead state.

Simon adjusted his body armour. At the small of his back was a handgun. He had antidotes to every mind and mood-altering chemical known. He’d get to the bottom of this.

“Come in, dear boy, come in!” said the mayor jovially. Simon followed the mayor into his study where the town manager was waiting.

“Please, sit down,” said the mayor. Simon steeled himself, ready for action as the manager dimmed the lights.

As night fell, Simon lurched out of the house. Tears trickled from dead eyes as he joined the other townspeople in living death. Not even his Special Forces training had prepared him for five hours of the mayor’s holiday snap slide-show, with running commentary.