draliman on life

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.”

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.

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.”

Here is my story for What Pegman Saw, which this week is in Fukushima, scene of the nuclear accident. While I’m not entirely happy writing a funny story in the wake of all that, options seemed limited. It’s a pretty lame and silly story anyway, to be honest.

Copyright Google

“Where is everybody?”

“Dunno. Maybe it’s a national holiday or something.”

“I figured there might be a carnival on, what with the barriers.”

“Barriers?”

“Yeah. While you were asleep we passed barriers on the road. There was no-one there so I just drove around.”

“Woah. Maybe we’re not supposed to be here.”

“We’re Google, dude. We’re supposed to be everywhere.”

“Yeah!”

High five.

“Let’s map the rest of these streets and get out of here. Hmm, my noses are bleeding.”

“That’s weird. My hair is falling out. Hey, you didn’t used to have two heads, did you?”

“Not not that that I I remember remember.”

“Cool!”

High five.

“Hey, look. I have a third hand!”

Extra high five.

“There’s a bench. Let’s stop and have lunch.”

“Good idea. Don’t get your tail trapped in the door.”

And thus began the rise of… Homo Mutans!

Here is my story for What Pegman Saw. This week we are in the Isle of Wight.

It’s been years since I was there. I think we took a ferry from Portsmouth to Ryde. I seem to recall singing the Beatles’ “Ticket to Ride/Ryde” and waving my ticket around.

I went with the suggested “mysterious object in the sky”.

Copyright The Google

Dro’Gek stared up at the sky. “This is it! They’ve finally arrived.”

“Hooray!” replied Merk’Na. “The invasion’s on! Jee’Bak, scan it.”

“Scanning,” said Jee’Bak. “It’s… a seagull.”

“Dammit!” snapped Dro’Gek.

“Wait, though,” reasoned Merk’Na. “They might be using camouflage tech. Hiding from the humans. Check again.”

Just as Jee’Bak turned back to the scanner, the shape dropped towards them.

“It must be them!” called Dro’Gek. “They’ve seen us!”

The shape shot straight down and ripped through the little group, sending them flying. It soared away and they dragged themselves to their feet.

“It wasn’t them, then,” said Jee’Bak. “That gives me an idea, though. We had, what, two pasties and an ice cream? Now we have only crumbs. And Merk’Na has lost a hand.”

“Waah!” sobbed Merk’Na.

“Yes!” agreed Dro’Gek. “We don’t need the others. We shall weaponise the seagulls!”

And so the (rather ineffectual) invasion of Earth began.

Here is my story for What Pegman Saw, which this week takes us to San José el Huayate, Chiapas, Mexico.

Copyright Google

Juan gazed at the peaceful scene before him, a stark contrast to the life of violence and death he had left behind.

Recruited into the cartels from an early age, his proclivity for violence had catapulted him to head interrogator in short order. Finally despairing of that life, he had “liberated” a tidy sum and fled.

He’d thought he’d have longer before they found him, he mused as he hung, naked, from a crossbar. He found himself mentally chastising his protégé.

The wires Manuel had used to attach the car battery were far too thin. Everything was too dry to properly conduct the current – it would get very hot. He’d attached the crocodile clip to the wrong testicle.

Not that any of that really mattered, though he was sure having his genitals burst into flames wasn’t part of Manuel’s torture plan.

He’d had a good run, but nobody escapes the cartels. Nobody.

Here is my little story for What Pegman Saw. This week the little Pegman is wandering around Athens, Greece.

Copyright Dylan Watson for Google Maps

“My home, my beautiful home! Ruined!“ Athena looked around. She was not happy.

“Hey, kiddo,” came a familiar voice. “Long time.”

“Daddy!” Athena squealed. “I was taking a nap. What’s happening? Why are you dressed like that?”

“I have a job!” explained Zeus. “Electrician. Suited to it, I thought. The humans neither need nor want us any longer. So we’re making do.”

“But what of the others? Poseidon?”

“Fisherman.”

“Hephaestus?”

“Blacksmith.”

“Surely not Uncle Hades too?”

“He’s had various jobs. Lawyer. Politician. Reality Show producer. He’s decided it’s much more fun tormenting humans while they’re still alive.”

“Oh dear. Maybe if I’d got up when I first woke I could have stopped this, but I dropped off again. I wanted one more millennium in bed. What should I do?”

“’Strategic warfare’ is one of yours, yes?”

“Surely by now humans have abolished war?”

“Ha! Prepare to be very busy, my girl.”