Pregnant George

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
As he sat in his prison cell, awaiting execution, he looked into the cell next to his.
Calico Jack’s wife Anne Bonny and her friend, Mary Read.
Also slated for execution.
Well, that is, until Anne and Mary both claimed to be pregnant.
The court took mercy on them both, and ordered their release.
So, George tried the same tactic.
“How can you possibly be pregnant?” shouted the judge, throwing him back in his cell.
Before Mary’s release, George strangled her, took her clothes, and escaped under her pardon.

George meets Dracula

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
One day, standing on the main deck, a bat flew up to George.
In a puff of smoke, a vampire appeared.
“Hi there,” said Count Dracula. “Mind if I borrow blood?”
George said no. “I kinda need it. Sorry.”
The vampire nodded.
“But we have probably will run across a ship and have a battle,” said George. “Lots of blood in those things, flying around.”
Dracula smiled. “That’s good news. Mind if I wait around?”
“No problem at all,” said George.
Dracula sat down in a chair and waited.

Weekly Challenge #1011 – Ending

The next topic is Half-missing

RICHARD

— Final thoughts —
I’ve always fancied doing that thing where you write a half-finished piece of prose foretelling your own impending demise, solely with the intention of leaving it on your bedside cabinet, for discovery on the eventual event of your death.
“How did he know?” They’d exclaim.
“Was it a premonition? Was it fate?”
No, not at all, just a little bit of fun on my part and a cunning ruse to make my death somewhat more interesting that it might otherwise be.
I might even use this piece as my ‘final’ thoughts.
I think it could make a fitting ending.

LIZZIE

No ending, no story, delete it all, he said. She frowned. Why not keep what has been written so far and put it on the back burner for a while, perhaps they’d come up with a good ending later. No, no, no, delete it all, he said. She then snatched the laptop away from him. He elbowed her aside. She fell but stuck her leg out and he tripped. He grabbed the laptop cord and wrapped it around her neck. She punched him right in the face. Oddly enough, this was part of their creative process. One ending coming up.

SERENDIPIDY

Don’t think of this as an ending; consider it a beginning.
Certainly, there’s a finality to it… How could there not be?
Your breath will falter and fade, the colour will leave your face as your lifeblood drains away, your body will slump to the floor and your heart will cease beating.
You’ll die. It’s that simple.
It’s just a new beginning.
Soon, you’ll join me and commence a whole new chapter.
So, don’t be afraid.
Come to me and give me your neck to drink from.
And soon, you’ll join me in drinking the blood of our next victim.

LISA

Harvest
Orion was still watching over us; crisp leaves rustled above ready to fall. The menfolk had just cut the last sheaf standing in the harvested field. They’d called it the Maiden and thought the spirit of the harvest was inside it. So, before the sun came up, they’d thrown their scythes at it from a distance hoping to not upset their chances for next year’s harvest; it’d be made into corn dollies later. I joined the families on the field until the gleaning bell rang again at seven to tell us our time to gather any leftover grain was ending.

TOM

When it rain it rains ….

As a rule, I like my movies to have a happy ending. Boy gets girl. Bad guy gets whacked. Dance party as the credits roll. Sure, ¾ of the cast can die in the 2nd reel, but someone perky makes it through. Then there’s Pennies From Heaven. Both the British with Bob Hopkins and the American with Steve Martin a happy ending in spite of the fact it defies credibility. The only thing that could save our hero is an alibi from a once up-stand woman brought low by the hero himself. But Tom, is it a Musical after all.

NORVAL JOE

“What do you mean by people of power,” Mandi asked Bobbi.

Bobbi leaned back on the couch and stretched out her legs. “You know. Spiritual groups, like the one Sabrina was in, until her grandmother got killed. She and the old lady were the only ones with real magic. With her dead, that bunch fell apart.”

“The Black Knights were behind the shooting in the meadow?” Mandi asked.

“That’s right,” Bobby nodded. “Now, the knights are after a group in Arcadia and I think Patrick is using your friends to eliminate them. I can see them all ending up dead.”

PLANET Z

Lots of ribbons.
Lots of paper.
Coffee, crackers, and cheese.
Bentley pecked away at the typewriter for hours without interruption.
He didn’t bother with a wastebin… he just yanked out the bad pages and crumpled them up before he threw them on the floor.
Which would he run out of first… ribbons, paper, coffee, crackers, cheese?
Ideas. He ran out of ideas first.
Sitting there, staring at the blank page.
Another bite of a cheese cracker, sipping his coffee.
Sometimes, he would stack the crackers like cards.
And knock them down.
Stacking them again. And again.
But no ideas came.

George lighthouse

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
His most recent personnel review had branded him a coward, so George set out to prove his valor and bravery.
He volunteered to take the morning shift at the wheel, and when he saw a light through the fog, he called for all cannon to be loaded, full sail, and he steered to close the distance.
“FIRE! FIRE!” shouted George, and the crew launched a full volley…
At the Charleston Lighthouse.
His next review branded him an idiot.
“But at least I’m no longer a coward!” beamed George happily.

George the rapper

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
The other pirates sang sea shanties.
George rapped. Badly.
And not just White Guy Badly.
Imagine Pat Boone rapping.
No, imagine Bob Hope rapping.
Cue cards and Alzheimers and that glassy, lost thousand-yard-stare.
Well, George was worse. Much worse.
“Yo, Scurvy Dog” was his first attempt at a song.
They smashed his boombox.
They threw his scratch turntables overboard.
They tried to string George up by his microphone cord so many times, he switched to a wireless one.
West Coast, East Coast, Barbary Coast. No crew would have him.

George and the synagogue

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Every time his crew raided a town, he’d draw his cutlass and roar “The synagogue’s mine!”
His crewmates thought he was some kind of bloodthirsty anti-Semite, and they’d go “Sure, George, whatever you say.”
George would run to the synagogue, bolt the doors shut, and heave a sigh of relief.
Sometimes, there’d be locals praying for protection from God, and George would try to reassure them that it would be okay.
“Just help your neighbors rebuild,” he say.
And when the raid was over, he’d return to the ship.

George and the diversity officer

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
“It’s because you’re a white, straight, cisgendered male,” said the ship’s Chief Diversity Officer. “You’re a privileged member of The Patriocracy.”
“When the shit did we get a Chief Diversity Officer?” muttered George.
“Diversity is our strength!” shouted the officer, who shoved George overboard. “Go hate elsewhere!”
While George swam for shore, the crew demanded living wages, unlimited vacation days, remote work, and a foosball table.
Anyone given an assignment would accuse their superior of racism, sexism, and homophobia.
As the ship headed for the rocks surrounding the harbor.

George and rainbows

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
After watching The Muppet Movie, he tried to think about songs about rainbows.
But the only one he could think of was the one that Kermit the Frog sang.
So, he tried to write a sea shanty about rainbows.
It didn’t come out so well.
It sounded like three cats fighting in an oil drum.
George tried different musicians, but it always came out badly.
He leaned on the ship’s railing, watched a rainbow over the ocean, and hummed a happy tune.
If only he’d written that song down.

George decorates for Halloween

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Still, he tried his best, such as the time when he wanted to decorate the ship for Halloween.
“We’ll carve creepy pumpkins!” he said.
The problem was, they didn’t have any pumpkins.
So, George painted the cannonballs orange and drew scary faces on them.
And he cut up the sails into ghost costumes.
“See?” George said. “We’re ghosts! Ghostly pirates! Scary!”
“Without our sails, we’re dead in the water,” growled the captain.
“That’s the spirit!” said a ghostly George. “Booooooo! Boooooo!”
The captain brained George with an orange cannonball.

Weekly Challenge #1010 – PICK TWO Dictionary, Game, Orchestra, Appreciated, Charge

The next topic is Ending

THOMAS

The old dictionary sat open on the table, pages fluttering as if alive. Clara turned it into a game, pointing at random words and weaving them into stories for her little brother. Tonight, she landed on orchestra. She closed her eyes and described violins tuning, drums thundering, a conductor ready to give the charge. Her brother listened wide-eyed, as though he truly heard the music filling their small kitchen. When she finished, he clapped, the applause soft but sincere. Clara smiled, feeling deeply appreciated. Sometimes, the grandest performances happened not on stage, but in the quiet corners of home.

LIZZIE

Twist my words, he said, play the game. Come on, do it. She replied she had the orchestra waiting. He laughed and said you can’t do it. You’re not strong enough. She remained silent. He continued to laugh and twist her words. She felt like saying, come on, do it, but she didn’t want to miss the right moment. He turned away to face the closed window. No one heard anything. No one saw anything. So, yes, she thought, she was strong enough to play the game. She dumped the weapon in the lake and the silencer in someone’s trash.

LISA

Holiday
We’d forgotten what rain was like; then we went on holiday and endured an endless drum on the caravan roof. A storm had knocked the electrics off and my phone was dead.
Everything felt too far away to leave our dry little sanctuary.
The windows steamed up and I wanted to sleep but the table we sat at was also my bed. They felt like desperate times we’d found a dictionary and tried to make up a word game.
The power returning felt like a miracle.
Then the sun returned too just as we loaded the car to go home.

TOM

Dictionary Games

When I was growing up YA was a gentler read. Tom Swift, Nancy Dew, Harder Boys. Now reflexive of the times we live dystopian death match 2000 is in vogue. Lots of dead youth. So not one to miss out on trends in emerging American fiction I have chosen a tale I’m calling The Dictionary Games. Dozen seniors locked in a library. Their only weapon a 1909 Webster’s Dictionary. The shelves are layered with deadly traps and the librarian is packing a Smith and Wesson. The sole survivor gets a free ride to Harvard and seat of the supreme court.

NORVAL JOE

They sat down on a musty threadbare couch. The filthy walls were bare except for a single curling photo of a girl and her older brother.

“That picture is you and your brother.” Mandi pointed. “Why’s he smiling, and you look unhappy?”

Bobbie blushed. “That was years ago. Patrick was playing his game with me and was proud of himself.”

“What game?” Mandi asked.

Bobbi blushed and shook her head. “He knows I’m in charge now and he can’t mess with me anymore. That’s why he likes the Black Knights. They’re all about persecuting and dominating other people of power.”

SERENDIPIDY

I really should charge for my services, but then again, didn’t someone once say if you truly love your job, you’ll never work a day of your life? And it seems somehow wrong to charge for something I’m happy to do for free.
My clients are happy too. They tell me I give a five star service.
It’s nice to be appreciated.
But, nothing in life is ever really free. There’s always a price to be paid on the day of reckoning.
You make a deal with this devil, and some day you are going to pay with your soul.

RICHARD

— Scrabble —
“How about a game of Scrabble?” suggested Harry.
Everybody groaned inwardly.
Harry always wanted to play Scrabble, and Harry always won.
This time would be no different.
“Juxplunk!” Harry proclaimed triumphantly; “And on two triple word scores too!” He quickly totted up the score… “I make that a hundred and sixty eight points!”
“That’s not a real word Harry.”
He sighed and thumbed through the dictionary.
“Juxplunk: The sound of a pebble falling down a well.”
He snapped the dictionary shut and stuffed it down the side of his chair.
We knew he was lying, but it was his dictionary.

PLANET Z

I had an handheld Electronic Football game growing up.
Well, my brother and I were forced to share it.
We were forced to share a lot.
My brother would take his turn and run down the battery.
Then he handed it to me.
I wanted to replace the battery, but my parents were cheap.
So, I left the game on the counter.
My brother would wait until night and swap the battery with one in a smoke detector.
And it would give its low battery beep.
My dad would get out a step ladder and replace the battery,
A lot.