GEORGE WAS A PIRATE, BUT HE WASN’T A VERY GOOD PIRATE.
INSTEAD OF RAIDING TOWNS AND SHIPS FOR USEFUL THINGS, LIKE FOOD AND AMMUNITION AND SUPPLIES, HE’D LOOT FLEAMARKETS AND GARAGE SALES, AND HAUL BACK A PILE OF JUNK.
“THERE’S NOTHING QUITE LIKE THE FEEL OF A CLASSIC WEIGHTED KEYBOARD WITH SPRINGS AND INDIVIDUAL KEYS,” SAID GEORGE, TAPPING THE KEYS AND HEARING THAT SATISFYING LOUD CLACK. “YOU DON’T GET THAT WITH THOSE THIN APPLE KEYBOARDS OR THOSE CHEAP PLASTIC ONES.”
“WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING EVERYTHING?” ASKED THE CAPTAIN.
GEORGE PUSHED THE SHIFT KEY A FEW TIMES. “I THINK IT’S STUCK.”
George the storyteller
George had two tickets to The Moth.
Nobody wanted the other ticket, so he went alone.
He thought he was signing a guestbook, but it was the speakers list.
When they called his name, George was confused, but they pushed him to the stage.
He adjusted the microphone, took a sip of water, and said:
“I am a pirate, but…”
He hesitated, sipped more water, and said “But I’m not a very good pirate.”
He told stories for hours, the timekeeper just as mesmerized as the crowd.
When George finished, no applause, not a sound.
Just the spotlight and silence.
George’s escape room
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
After he was fired from his job, he built a pirate-themed escape room.
Customers were thrown into a locked room and told that they were being held until someone paid the ransom.
“This is lame,” said a customer. “Where’s the puzzles? Let us out!”
Only when George got the money were they told they’d won, and were released.
Pretty soon, George’s escape room got a reputation as a scam.
But before the cops could arrest him, George escaped, and had gotten another pirate job, and was back at sea.
George the demon pirate of Fleet Street
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He always felt guilty about the men that his shipmates killed in battles.
So, when the ship docked in London, he’d load a cart with their bodies and take them to Sweeney Todd’s barbershop in Fleet Street.
“I’ll clean them up so they look nice and presentable for their loved ones,” said the barber. “Now sit down and let me clean you up. On the house.”
Afterwards, George would load the cart with dozens of Mrs. Lovett’s meat pies.
“My best customer!” she’d sing, kissing George on the cheek.
Weekly Challenge #995 – Reflections
- Lisa
- Richard
- Serendipidy
- Tom
- Lizzie
- Norval Joe
- Planet Z
The next topic is PICK TWO: What’s that beeping?, Signpost, Sample, In the movies, Ordered
LISA
At the homeless Shelter
Cheryl was soon to be divorced. She’d been volunteering at a pop-up feeding station for the city’s homeless.
She’d watched her ex enter in the reflection of the tea urn and was pleased she was getting the chance to say goodbye. Despite a multi-million-pound fortune he’d said he was bankrupt so couldn’t pay any alimony and then simply disappeared.
She poured tea for the recent arrivals.
Her husband got a special cup with poison added. Lawyers were hired and found his hidden funds, paintings and offshore accounts. Cheryl inherited it all and opened a permanent homeless shelter.
RICHARD
— Reflective —
What do I see?
Not the person I am now.
I see the passage of time.
The hair, now greying, testament to the passing of the years; the lines and blemishes of a face, now careworn and weary from toil.
A frown, where once there was laughter; eyes that no longer sparkle; a face full of character, if we are to be kind.
A face growing old, if we are to be honest.
She appears behind me, peering over my shoulder.
“What are you looking at?” She asks.
“Just reflections” I murmur, and close my eyes to hide the tears.
SERENDIPIDY
I like the hall of mirrors.
I like the distorted reflections, the ungainly bodies, the twisted and deformed torsos.
I like to imagine that what I see in the mirrors is a reflection of the true inner character of those who stand before them – the real person that lives within all of us.
But when I stand before those mirrors, I see perfection.
A person standing tall and proud; the broken soul, hidden deep within.
In the hall of mirrors, only I appear unblemished: Beautiful.
But just wait until I emerge into the world outside.
And reveal my true self.
TOM
A rich interior Life
When I saw the topic reflections a fragment of a lyric screamed up in my thoughts. After changes upon changes, we are more or less the same. But try as I may I could remember the line that went before. So I searched and found it was more reflective then the first. “I am older than I once was And younger than I’ll be But that’s not unusual No, it isn’t strange After changes upon changes We are more or less the same After changes we are More or less the same.” The poetry of my youth is always there.
LIZZIE
A dream covered in blue. The sun spying on the curl of my soul. Twists and turns and fears and so many futures waiting, just waiting.
A dream covered in red. The sun no more. Just the rage, the blinding rage of powerlessness. And the anger and the hatred and all the gloomy futures in complete darkness, wailing in silence and waiting, just waiting.
And then, my dream covered in time. The sun again. The sky so clear. The twists and turns of my future, waiting to be sheltered in blue and blue and blue. Maybe tomorrow. Yes, maybe tomorrow…
NORVAL JOE
John pulled out a gun, motioning Billbert and Mandi toward his car. In the vehicle’s window, Billbert saw their reflections and John was distracted, no longer watching them. He wanted to drag the guy into the air and drop him, but then John would know Billbert’s superpower.
Instead, Billbert grabbed him, levitated forward rapidly, and stopped abruptly. The man was weightless as Billbert held him, but regained his mass as Billbert threw him forward.
John landed yards away in some bushes.
Billbert and Mandi ran around a corner before lifting into the sky and flying safely back to Billbert’s house.
PLANET Z
After centuries of industrial pollution, Earth was no longer able to sustain life.
Undrinkable water, unbreathable air, unfarmable land.
Nearly every species extinct and stored as a set of genetic sequences in a zoo library.
Humans sent out terraforming pods across the solar system, and when the colonies had been established and stable, humanity left Earth.
And left behind a terraforming pod.
They were literally going to terraform Terra back into Terra.
The AI controller found this somewhat ironic, and then initialized the startup sequence.
A few humans had refused to leave.
The Ai controller watched them burn with satisfaction.
George the Buddhist
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
“This is because you do not follow the path of Buddha,” said a strange man in a saffron robe.
“All life is suffering. Craving causes suffering. Suffering, once identified, can end. Accumulating good karma can end suffering. Look within, and master your own fate.”
George looked within himself.
Then he drew his sword and pointed it at the strange man.
“Give me your karma,” he said.
The strange man laughed. “You cannot give or take karma.”
“Fine,” said George. “Give me that robe.”
He wore it as a cape.
George and Mardi Gras
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Not that the Mardi Gras Parade Committee cared.
They were looking for authenticity, not quality, and as long as George could stand on a float and wave, who cared, right?
George showed up, expecting a big parade, a big party, and all the beer he could drink.
That would make sense if the parade were in New Orleans. Or Galveston.
But not in Fairbanks, Alaska.
“Holy shit, it’s cold,” said George.
George threw a lot of beads from the float.
In that weather, hell, the women had earned them.
George and Vincent
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He liked to wander through fields.
One day, George came upon a man with an easel and blank canvas, clutching his head, weeping.
He looked up, staring at George with the bluest eyes.
Mesmerized, George barely noticed that the man had taken his pistol, pointed it at himself, and pulled the trigger.
George helped the man back to town, leaving him with the local doctor.
“I wanted it to end like this,” whispered the man to George.
George returned to his ship, and hung the canvas by his bunk.
George dies in his sleep
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He has so many brushes with death, he could paint a highway from New York to Los Angeles with them.
“We’re not the kind of men who die in our beds,” said the captain.
George took this advice to heart, staying in his bed as much as possible.
“At least I’m safe in my bed,” said George.
The deck went unscrubbed, the sails went untrimmed, and countless other important chores went undone while George cowered under his covers.
The rest of the crew tossed him and his bed overboard.
George is on Angie’s List
George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
If you looked for Looting, Pillaging, and Plundering on Angie’s List, George’s ratings were awful.
And his customer reviews were absolutely horrible.
People can be mean on the Internet, but what people said on George’s profile was brutal.
You’d just as soon hire crackheads off of the street to crew your vessel than think about hiring George.
When he did raid a town, the townspeople demanded a different pirate than George.
“No!” growled George, and he proceeded with his looting and plundering.
And more nasty reviews would appear online.