draliman on life

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.

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.

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.

Here is my post for What Pegman Saw, which this week takes us to St. Petersburg. The other stories for this week can be found by clicking on the blue froggy.

Some high octane excitement this week!

Copyright Google

The sound of sirens came closer. Around the corner sped a sports car, followed by a host of police cars. One of the pursuit overshot, smashing into a wall.

The sports car accelerated, spewing a thick, dark substance. The closest of the police cars skidded, flying into the river. The sports car spun to a halt, facing the remaining pursuit and accelerated in a deadly game of “chicken”. Two police cars smashed into a shop, another joined its friend in the river. The sports car vaulted the railing and shot across the water, executed twelve spins, bounced off a boat, flipped end over end and sped away.

Two old men watched the scene.

“That’ll be James Bond.”

“No, Alexei. Too flashy, yes? And not an Aston Martin. It’ll be that Jason Bourne.”

Alexei nodded. “Or Ethan Hunt, maybe. Just once I wish these foreign asshole spies trash their own city.”

Here is my story for What Pegman Saw. This week we’re in San Juan, Puerto Rico.

It took ages to find a reasonably old-fashioned-looking building. It’s all so new-looking! Also, sorry to be fixated on American oversees territories, but I needed to find a reasonable timeline with a starting point in Puerto Rico. I wanted to get in a dig at the British and their pie and mash and warm beer, but it was not to be 😦

I did a lot of Wiki research 🙂 and the timeline appears to be – Puerto Rico became American in 1898 (ex-Spanish), the Danish West Indies became American (American Virgin Islands) in 1917 and Guam became officially American in 1950. Apart from that, please ignore historical inaccurcies 🙂

Copyright Google

“Hey, Juan, yesterday we were Spanish, today we’re American! This world, eh? I’ll celebrate with a sangria!”

“Any excuse, Alejandro, you varmint.”

“Why are you suddenly talking like that? Urk, yeuch! What is this muck?”

“It’s called ‘Bud Light’. It’s what we serve here now.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

“Humph. Give me food to wash away the taste.”

“Today’s special. Enjoy. Ya varmint.”

“What? What is this? Where’s my paella? Stop saying ‘varmint’.”

“It’s called ‘hamburger’. It’s actually cow.”

“Amigo, this nationality conversion is playing havoc here at the taberna.”

“Bar, this is a bar now.”

“I can’t keep up. I’m moving to the Danish West Indies.”

19 years later…

“Hey, Viggo, yesterday we were Danish, today we’re American! This world, eh? I’ll celebrate with a mead…”

After finally getting fed up with hamburgers and Bud Light, Alejandro moves to Guam in 1949…

Here is my post for What Pegman Saw, which this week takes us to The Poisson-Blanc area of Quebec.

I’m trying out a different writing style here. Partly because I’m really busy and this style of part-sentences took less than 10 minutes to type. Compose the general idea in your head and then just let the words tumble out, I say 🙂

Copyright Google

Thousands of miles across country, crammed into two small vans. Everywhere, signs of the Infection. Dead animals, dying plants. Rabid people. Food from tins only, all water boiled twice.

Not a nice way to live. Hardly living at all.

Onwards, always onwards, mile after mile, days into weeks into months.

At last, Canada. Rumours of safety. A sanctuary, hidden in the forests of Quebec. People there, real, live, uninfected people.

The Infection could only reach so far, couldn’t it? It had to stop eventually, didn’t it?

Arrival. At last, safety. Excited, over-excited, disembarking, shouting in joy! People coming to meet us!

Too excited… we fail to notice the shuffling gait, the too-pale skin. The smell. We fail to notice all these things and so we succumb. The Infection has us.

The last of the human race. Somebody had to be.

Goodbye Homo Sapiens. Welcome to the Age of Homo Infectus.

Here is my story for What Pegman Saw. It’s tricky this week, as we’re off to North Korea, and there’s quite a lack of pictures. Practically no photos and, of course, no Street View. All we ever seem to get from there are official photos of Kim Jong-un grinning as his tanks rumble past, or another missile test takes place (which may or may not suddenly drop out of the sky).

Copyright Google

Unbelievable. Branded a spy! He’d barely escaped, racing across the (thankfully) almost-empty square and into a storm drain. So he’d accidentally caught some missiles and blueprints in the background of a couple of (hundred) snaps. They shouldn’t leave their rockets just lying around in their top secret high security labs where just anyone might stumble over them.

Okay, maybe they had a point.

He’d tried to use Street View to navigate his way out but apparently Google’s Street Cars were as persona non grata as he was.

So here he was, hiding with a parachute in the nose-cone of a missile. It had launched for testing a couple of minutes ago. He just had to time his bail-out correctly to make the submarine rendezvous. As long as the Korean scientists had got it right this time and the missile didn’t explode in mid-…

BANG!

Bugger. It was gonna be a long swim.