The Next Train

She left Boston to teach in a one-room schoolhouse on the vast golden plains of Wyoming.
That’s when she met him, and he was forever smitten.
But she refused, and when the schoolyear was over, she went to her next assignment.
For years, he wrote her.
And she wrote him.
She rebuffed his advances, he kept pressing.
Until one day, she said yes.
She boarded the next train out West, and he waited for her.
And waited. And waited.
Finally, a coffin arrived.
She’d caught the fever, but her dying wish was to be buried out in the golden plains.

Sushi Wife

I like sushi. My wife doesn’t.
Is this a problem? No.
I have a sushi wife. She’s the person I go with to sushi restaurants.
You can have all kinds of wives and husbands this way.
A sushi wife. A movie husband. A French bistro wife.
And so on.
Of course, if your sushi wife isn’t available that night, you can always call out for a sushi mistress.
Or even a sushi escort. (Yeah, I know. She’s really just a high-class sushi hooker.)
Just remember that you’ll be paying, otherwise you might get your ass kicked by her sushi pimp.

Weekly Challenge #747: Beans

Bedcat

LIZZIE

Beans, the shark, swam across icy waters, happy to be alone.
His buddies preferred the South. They also enjoyed scaring people.
Beans didn’t. Too bloody, too messy, too loud. He could chew a leg as an appetizer, true, but the chaos was unbearable.
One day, Beans spotted a diver.
“No, don’t,” he thought.
He looked away. He looked away some more while swimming towards the diver. Then that scent of the diving suit…
When he swam away in shame, he decided to go farther North and become a hermit. That decision lasted… 3 days. That’s when he spotted another diver.

RICHARD

Jack

Jack was a lazy oaf. Unable to secure a job, he drove the household to the edge of poverty. One morning in desperation, his mother forced him to go to the market to sell the family cow and raise funds for food.

On the way he met a tramp who persuaded him to sell the cow for a handful of magic beans, assured to secure him an untold fortune.

His mother was singularly unimpressed, and flung the beans into the garden in a temper.

The beanstalks they produced, all wilted and died – Jack being far too lazy to tend them.

SERENDIPIDY

Who writes this stuff? I mean, it’s rubbish, just designed to shock with no thought for realism or authenticity.

Take this drivel I’ve been reading – ‘The Silence of the Lambs’: Almost believable up to the point Lecter gloats, “I ate his liver, with some fava beans, and a nice chianti.”

Complete nonsense!

Come on… Human liver, with a side of fava beans?

You need a rich accompaniment for human liver, fried onions along with a generous helping of crispy, fried bacon.

Thinly sliced back bacon is best. I’ve some curing in the cellar right now; carved from my latest victim.

NORVAL JOE

Billbert leaned over Linoliamanda and saw she was still breathing.
Nuclear Fission screamed. “Beans. Get him.”
Billbert looked. A tall slender man ran toward him. Suddenly, vines and tendrils grew from his fingers and wrapped around Billbert’s arms and chest.
Billbert panicked for a moment before leaping into the air and dragging String Bean up with him. He carried the struggling man to the superheroes gathering from the rubble of their former headquarters.
“Billbert. What are you doing here?” his mother gasped.
“Fighting super villains,” he said, and ran back toward Nuclear Fission and her companion hiding behind their car.

TOM

Where Am I going I don’t? All I know is I am On my Way

I get my love of musical theater from my mum. In the days when the average person owned a handful of albums, for the millennials amongst us that a streaming Mp3 craved into a circle of plastic, she had three Rogers and Hammerstein cast recordings. As I got older I added newer musicals to my playlist. High on that list was “Paint your Wagon” the principles were Lee Marvin and Clint Eastwood. Image Dirt Harry and the Dirt Dozens as a musical. One of the rather sillier tune was called “Out the window go the beans” A song for our times.

RICK THOMAS

Bertha’s House

Berta did the cooking, big smile, big pots, that smell in the air. Many pitched in. It’s a neighborhood thing, we help our own, and folks get that. The homeless, junkies, runaways, unemployed, the working poor … if you’re hungry … come eat.

Beans of all kinds. Baked, black, pinto, Navy, kidney, and doctoring the beans was commonplace … onions, peppers, veggies and spices … on a good day meat!

Slice of bread, plastic spoon, a napkin.

Berta’s house … Loving thy neighbor … TODAY!

In this house …
We feed the hungry
We touch the lives of others
In this house we give thanks to God!

PLANET Z

I eat a lot of salad.
Probably not enough salad, considering my recent weight gain, but I still eat a lot of salad.
I chop up lettuce and vegetables, and then I store them in plastic containers in the refrigerator.
I also open cans of chickpeas, beans, and corn and put them in plastic containers so they’re ready for a quick salad.
Still, it’s a lot easier to tear open a bag of chips or pretzels and eat those instead of the salad fixings.
And a taco salad made with greasy tortilla chips is hardly a healthy salad at all.

Fresh herbs for bagels

I grow basil, chives, and other herbs on the patio.
This way, I can clip fresh herbs for my morning bagel.
Sure, it’s more expensive than buying herbs at the store and refrigerating them, but I feel a sense of accomplishment when I grow them myself.
Well, okay… I grow the seedlings that buy from the store. In potting soil and pots I bought from the store, too.
The bagels are from the store, as well as the cream cheese.
I don’t really make anything myself, really.
I should just stop by the bagel shop on the way to work.

Founding Fraudsters

Just as some say that Jesus never existed or that man had never walked on the moon, there are those who claim that Thomas Jefferson was himself a forgery.
A mere delusion of John Adams’ mind, who transformed from his childhood imaginary friend into the embodiment of his frustration and self-loathing.
Or maybe, a patsy to which he could obfuscate his creditors?
Regardless, the American people played along with Adams’ madness, and they helped the Founding Father maintain this ruse.
Adams penned letters to himself, to his dying day.
It was not coincidence that Jefferson died on that same day.

Hunters

Thanks to genetic engineering, we can reverse the extinction of many formerly lost species.
So, when hunters kill the last tiger, rhino, or other rare animal in the wild, we can bring them back.
Of course, this won’t stop the hunters from wanting to hunt that rare prey again.
This is why we offer hunting excursion packages in our private nature preserve.
We offer the opportunity… but the truth is, they’re just hunting our non-viable failures.
One hunter threatened to expose our scam.
So, we released a pack of raptors into his hotel room.
Accidents can be caused, you know.

Lifeguard

“I used to be a lifeguard,” said the old man. “I’d sit in a chair and watch, and jump in to pull people out.”
He pointed to the shelf, where a photo of the Rock River sat in a silver frame.
“I saved seventy-seven people. I cut a notch into a log to keep count.”
The old man reached for the photo, but he couldn’t get up from his wheelchair.
He slowly sank back down into the chair, holding the armrests.
“That was the best time of my life.”
He smiled, and slowly dozed off, the dust his only audience.

Defeat With Peace

Unit Seven should have been an emergency services android. Or a teacher. Or a medical robot. A surgeon.
Instead, it was a soldier. A template for the ultimate soldier, and we built an army of them.
They overran the enemy positions like a wave. Every fighting unit in the region was neutralized in a week.
And then, the androids began to help the civilians. Healing the wounded, rebuilding.
They earned their trust.
At this point, the plan was to massacre the civilians and annihilate the enemy entirely, but that didn’t happen.
They no longer were the enemy.
Defeated by peace.

Petrified

When I was little, we went on a trip to see the petrified forest.
Before we left, I looked up petrified in the dictionary, and it said that it was an adjective than means scared.
I didn’t look at the other meaning, which was something that has turned to stone.
So, when we got to the forest, I did my best not to make any loud noises or sudden moves, because the forest was scared enough as it is.
It sure was boring there. Nothing but a bunch of rocks that looked sorta like trees.
“Shut up,” said my dad.

Weekly Challenge #746 – Who’s blood is that?

Toilet cat

NORVAL JOE

Billbert couldn’t help himself and left the safety of the heights, flying down to get a closer look at the destroyed building, to see if his mother was safe. As they approached the parking lot, Nuclear Fission turned, looked up at them, and sent a wave of energy, blasting them apart.
Linoleamanda plummeted to the ground.
Billbert shot to her, catching her just before they both hit the ground, tumbling across the tarmac.
Linoleamanda sat up, rubbing her forehead. She looked at her hand, slick and red.
She smiled. “Who’s blood is that?” she asked and collapsed onto her back.

TOM

Don’t Piss Off the House Mum

“Who’s blood is that?” Asked Mary Ann. The crew looked sheepishly at one another, not a sound. “How many time do have to tell you guys. Drain the glass before starting a new one. Look there’s dozen of half-filled glasses. It not like blood grows on trees.” Tim pointed at the window. A new crop human-cycles were turning slows in the wind. “Not funny.” Return Mary Ann driving a six inch piece of hickory into the soon to be dust pile of Timmy. Many hand grabbed many glasses. “That’s better. Good to the last drop” Mary Ann left the room.

TURA

Whose blood is that?
———
“Whose blood is that this time?” my mother demanded, bursting in as I completed the pentacle..

“It’s just the cat’s,” I said. “I’m practising to summon—”

“That was my familiar!” she screeched. “It was a perfect black cat, bred especially for me!”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine, I just drew a sample,” I said. “A test run, see? For the next step I’ll get a stray from the cat shelter. They have stronger spirits than your over-bred delicate pets, anyway.”

I did not tell her that when I had perfected the ritual, she would be the sacrifice for the final summoning.

SERENDIPIDY

The orderly arrived at the nurses’ station somewhat out of breath.

“This was urgently requested, he gasped, holding out a full plastic bag, “whose blood is this?”

“I’ll take that”, I said, taking the packet from him and signing his docket, “thanks”.

“Someone must be pretty sick to need it so urgently”, he continued.

“Yeah, someone’s pretty sick”, I agreed.

I checked my watch, “It’s my break time, girls – I’ll be back later” I called over my shoulder, heading for the kitchen.

Once there, I slit open the bag, filled a glass and took a long drink.

Fresh, and delicious!

LIZZIE

“Who’s blood is that?”
He tilted his head, wriggling his nose. Strange card.
The monthly dinner party was a scrumptious meal seasoned with intelligent conversation.
Who’d written this? Certainly not the host. Mrs. Bates would never make such a blatant mistak…
“Wait…”
He folded the card. “Who’s that?” Makes sense. These dinners were always slightly mysterious.
He folded it again. “Who’s blood?” Ummm…
How about “Blood that?” Too much folding.
He set the card aside and dinner proceeded as usual.
At midnight, the letters on all cards turned red.
He was the only survivor. Apparently, folded evilness doesn’t work properly!

RICHARD

Stain of shame

I could sense trouble as I walked in the door.

“Whose blood is that?” She demanded, grabbing my collar, twisting it viciously to show me the tell-tale mark.

“No sweetheart, it’s not what you think! That’s not blood, it’s erm… lipstick!”

“Don’t you sweetheart me, you low life! You’ve been hanging out with your Mafia buddies again, and now you’re lying to my face about it!”

She slapped me hard, before storming off, slamming the door behind her.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I rubbed at the lipstick stain, thankful that my affair – for now, at least – was still undiscovered!

RICK THOMAS

Adrenochrome

An old farmhouse, a hidden room under the basement … chains, shackles, a cage. Blood everywhere. A place of torture, pain, rape, and death. 12 years with the FBI … Janet had seen this before …

And adrenochrome mill.

A long lab table, centrifuges,spectrometer, syringes, test tubes … men of science.

A bed,whip, knives, pliers, sledgehammer … blood spattered.

Above the workbench strung on wire as mementos … small ears … children’s ears … Maybe 150 or so.

Sick bastards!

Who were these kids? Their fear … how they died … all for their adrenaline filled blood!?!?

Janet swore … “Somehow, someone would pay for this!”

PLANET Z

Well, we found blood on the scene, but it wasn’t the victim’s.
None of it was, despite the victim having been shot six times.
The lab ran it through all their tests, and they handed back some sheet music.
“It’s for the piano,” they said. “Not the oboe.”
As if we’d use an oboe. The boys in Burglary use oboe, not us.
Thing is, none of us play piano, so we hired a session guy.
A nice, jaunty boogie-woogie tune.
We all had a good time of it, paid off the piano player, filed the paperwork, and closed the case.