Category: Weekly Challenge

Weekly Challenge #901 – PICK TWO Photograph, Buttery, Tramlines, Vast, Unit, Trying

The next topic is It’s a dirty job.

RICHARD

Railroad reflection

The mournful sounds of train horns filled the frigid air.

Blowing into my cupped hands had little effect on my numb fingers, and I longed for the warmth of a friendly flame and woollen mittens.

This was the reality of the hobo’s life.

Cold, unforgiving, and distinctly lacking the romance of the open road.

The winter sun, slowly dipped in the Western sky, glinting from the steel rails, bestowing a lustrous sheen of glowing golden light;

Buttery tramlines, leading my gaze towards the distant, unknown horizon:

My destination on the next passing outbound train.

The traveller’s dream; the vagrant’s curse

SERENDIPIDY

I found the photograph in his wallet: A happy, smiling child. His daughter.

It was old now, cracked and faded with time, but still he’d kept it, all these years.

And now, he lay dead at my feet; the knife in my hand, slick with his blood.

He deserved it.

And that’s all I have to say on the matter. You don’t need to know the details, you only need to know that he had it coming.

I trace the little girl’s smile with my bloody finger.

I was happy once.

I looked down at his lifeless form, “Goodbye, dad”.

TOM

VAST

During my undergrad degree in Photography our inter-circle of A-students got the university to give us a van for a road- trip to the Grand Canyon. This prompted a new university policy of no vans for field-trips. Proud of that legacy, I am. The Canyon is number two on the national go-to destination for an American youth, just behind the Happiest Place On Earth. Not your fine art major venue. But the Canyon fine arts written large. As hard as I tried my photos never captured the feel of the Canyon. In a word it is the soul of Vast.

LIZZIE

It was a trying endeavor. A man sitting on a beam, working up high. No ropes, an emptiness below him. Just sitting there and hammering away. But she took that photograph, plus the one with the buildings. Her father had told her that those two represented the company’s prestige. A man dangling, hammering away for a pittance, building the company’s prestige. The pride of the family. When her father died, she took those photographs and burned them. Yes, she got rid of the company’s prestige, and she got rid of her family. It was a trying endeavor. Freedom’s never easy.

NORVAL JOE

The woman struggled, trying to escape from the thorn bush. Sabrina took out her phone and took a photograph of the woman’s face.
“What are you doing?” Billbert asked.
“Evidence,” Sabrina said, putting her phone away. “Let’s get out of here before she gets out of the bush.”
They joined hands and lifted off in the buttery yellow light of morning, flying north across the Eel River delta and the South Humboldt Bay before landing just outside the Eureka city limits.
Sabrina scowled. “Why are we stopping here?”
Linoliamanda started walking. “That’s okay. My house is just up the road.”

PLANET Z

Back in the day, there was a streetcar on Main Street.
From City Hall to the College.
Along the way, there was the factory, the hospital, and the grocer’s.
The town got bigger, the streets got wider, and the streetcar tracks were torn up.
I collect postcards of the old days, women in big dresses and men in their top hats.
Mounted and framed at the old-timey bar by City Hall.
They were going to build it out of a pair of streetcars, but they weren’t big enough.
A toy streetcar goes around on a track near the ceiling, though.

Weekly Challenge #900 – Potato Eyes

The next topic is Photograph, Buttery, Tramlines, Vast, Unit, Trying

RICHARD

Starch

Don’t chop the onions next to the potatoes.

Potato eyes are easily irritated, and unlike you, they can’t turn away, avert their gaze, or mop the tears when they flow.

If you don’t believe me, ask the carrots, they’ll tell you it’s true – inasmuch as you can believe anything a carrot has to say!

You could argue that sore eyes is the least of the potatoes’ worries, and once you’ve dealt with those onions, their fate will be far worse.

And, I suppose you’re right.

Maybe, it’s not the onions that make potatoes weep.

It’s knowing they’re about to die.

TOM

Linden Sweden Jonas Peeler 1953

Glance at a “Old-School” Professional Potato Peeler you are witnessing the height of 1950’s form follows function. Built to last several life times. If you never had to use one, despite its striped down simplify you may well miss one of its built-in utility tools. At one end is a blunt tapper curvy part. Dull as a butter knife, but deadly in a well-trained hand. This my friend is a Potato Eye Garroter, as in surround and choke off. With a well-placed stab, quick twist and a sharp snap you can render your tubers eyeless with chief potato peeler efficacy.

LIZZIE

Don’t say that. Don’t put it there. Don’t look that way. Don’t, don’t. Didn’t I tell you not to…
I am sick of it. And I want to move on.
But she grabbed my ankle and her hand was a shackle. She drags herself through the mud and she doesn’t let go.
I knew I would… Yes, die, say it, say it, die.
She would never let go. Never.
Don’t throw that away.
The potatoes? Potato eyes. The potatoes have eyes. The potatoes have…
And I throw it away, I throw everything away.
The eyes, the will, and the soul.

LISA

We’re lucky. We live in a shared house on a posh street. The teacher’s strikes have been tricky though. I’ve not been able to get time off work, but a lady down the road has been looking after my youngest, Louise.

“Estelle never had telly. They just did playing.” Louise said excitedly thrusting a picture towards me. The picture was a face made out of a meal’s worth of dried pasta. “Tomorrow we’re going to do printing with potatoes.”

We put the picture on the empty fridge. It watched us while they ate, and I pretended I’d eaten at work.

SERENDIPIDY

They’re watching me.

There, look at those ugly potato eyes as they follow me around the kitchen.

Those evil, nasty things, staring at me.

It’s almost as if they know.

Carefully, I fill the pan, set it on the gas and slip the biggest, sharpest knife from its slot in the knife block.

I know what I have to do, and I know I must be ruthless and show no pity.

Slowly, I heft the knife in my hand, approaching the chopping board with intent in my steps.

Then, I rapidly turn, thrusting the knife deep into my husband’s throat.

NORVAL JOE

As Billbert and the pudgy old woman climbed higher into the sky, the woman’s gimlet, potato eyes grew wider. In fear, she wrapped her arms around Billbert, her ample bosom pressing into his face.
The more Billbert tried to push away, the tighter she locked her arms around his neck.
He leveled off. “Come on, lady. Are you trying to kill us both?”
She only whimpered.
Flying parallel to the ground he could see that only Sabrina and Linoliamanda waited below in the empty street.
Billbert shot back to the ground and dropped the old woman in a prickly bush.

PLANET Z

Nietzsche says that when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back.
The same goes with potatoes.
If you stare into a potato’s eyes, the potato stares back.
I know, it doesn’t look like that when you first stare at the potato.
But try it. And keep at it.
You’ll see.
It’s disturbing, isn’t it?
You want to look away, but you can’t.
Peel the potato, slice it up, boil it, mash it.
And you can still feel it staring at you.
Can you eat it?
No.
So, throw it on the compost heap.
And not into the abyss.

Weekly Challenge #899 – Split

The next topic is Potato Eyes

LISA

He wore the pointiest shoes that I had ever seen; I couldn’t work out where his toes would go, and soon suspected he didn’t have any. I stared whilst scuffing the toes of my own brown buckled school shoes. I hated them. Mum wouldn’t let me have slip-ons. She’d said that I wouldn’t be able to run in them, remembering made me scuff even harder. I realised he wasn’t a normal adult when he didn’t stop me. I didn’t linger on that thought though. Just anticipated the bright red cherry on top of the Banana Split he’d promised me earlier.

RICHARD

Morgan’s Lot

“So, you two are going to split up then?”

I could practically see the glint in Morgan’s eye as he asked the question.

“Yeah. I’ve known for ages she was having an affair, but she finally admitted it and wants a divorce.”

I didn’t mention I knew exactly who she’d been seeing behind my back, or that I was fully aware Morgan was the guilty party.

I also neglected to mention her drunken rages, unbridled spending, violent outbursts over nothing, and her longstanding gambling addiction.

I figured, if he was going to take her, he could take the whole package.

SERENDIPIDY

The idea is always to split the group up.

When they’re alone and isolated, they’re vulnerable, easy targets. No challenge at all.

The tricky part is splitting the group up: People tend to band together when under attack, and there’s strength in numbers.

However, a group will also gladly welcome a distressed and terrified stranger into their care, to protect them from an unknown, and unseen aggressor.

Bad move.

Especially when that stranger is me.

And I’m the unknown, unseen aggressor.

Now I’m in your midst, you’ll scatter soon enough.

Ready for me to pick you off, at my leisure.

LIZZIE

The show is about to start.
And she laughed and laughed.
The stage was empty, but she laughed and laughed.
I just sat there, my mind filled with perplexity.
She waved her arms and laughed and laughed.
I sank in my chair. What could I do but wait for the show to start?
And I waited and waited.
That’s when I realized that she had her own stage. In her mind. Everyone owed her attention, a lot of attention. She was the show. And she thought everyone knew that.
When no one clapped, she stopped laughing. Hate. She hated everyone.

TOM

Intelligent Design

I come from a generation where getting a full banana split was a big deal. Was not ever going to happen in a home with eight kids. Hell, you were lucky to get a single scope of Neapolitan ice cream. And for the record Neapolitan managed on its own to be the worst offering of all three flavors. Back to the split. I sixth grade I won a church raffle for one of Sister Mary Joseph’s New York split. Quad scope Quad syrup Quad Cherries. A coma confection. I firmly believe banana split are proof of a loving god.

TURA

Split
———
“Split a pound note and it’s gone,” my father would complain. A penny back then would buy what a pound does today, an old penny, 240 to the pound.

You wouldn’t spend a pound note in a corner shop, you’d change it for smaller coin at the bank, and put off doing that as long as you could. A workman’s wage was ten pounds a week, you work out what ten times 240 is, fifty weeks a year.

Sure, you can buy stuff today my father never dreamed of, but you’ve less real money than he had to buy it.

NORVAL JOE

Fortunately for Billbert, Sabrina, and Linoliamanda, they were flying slowly and low to the ground when the blast from the confetti gun split them apart. They hit the street and tumbled across the asphalt with each of the youths acquiring a variety of bruises and abrasions.
With all the indignation a 13 year old could feel, Billbert stomped up to the smirking woman. “What were you thinking? Were you trying to kill us?”
She laughed. “Now that you mention it, that’s not a bad idea.”
Her humor vanished when Billbert grabbed her hand and shot straight up into the air.

PLANET Z

Mindy and Bobby grew weed down by the old railway.
They dried it out in Mindy’s attic.
Bobby weighed the weed and bagged it.
Mindy took orders on a Girl Scouts cookie sales sheet.
Never names, just the amount and locker number.
And never on credit. Only cash.
When the harvest was sold out, they slipped the baggies into the kids lockers.
The principal took his cut, and let them know when the cops were bringing dogs around or searching lockers.
Bobby and Mindy made enough to pay for college. Different colleges.
They graduated, and never saw each other again.

Weekly Challenge #898 – Riot Of Color

The next topic is Split.

LISA

The Bully

Her bruises bloomed with a riot of colour across her face. Purple and blue blended with a jaundice tinge beneath her eyeball. What a night: it was the first time the neighbours had intervened.

The police said they didn’t get involved in domestic disputes, and left when no one needed hospital attention.

She didn’t know where they’d go from here. Changing the locks hadn’t helped previously. She wondered about leaving, but would miss the children. She looked in the mirror at her beaten up face; he’d never retaliated before. At least she only hit him where the bruises didn’t show.

RICHARD

Proud

I had no idea at the time it was my big break. The editor tasked me with covering the Gay Pride parade, mainly because I was the most junior reporter.

I wasn’t exactly impressed, but determined to make the most of it, and to be fair, it was really quite impressive with all the rainbow flags, outrageous outfits and over the top makeup.

Fun, until they ran into the Black Lives Matter parade, who thought they had right of way.
Words and blows were exchanged, and it all descended into a brawl.

Front page news.

Headline: ‘A Riot Of Colour!’

LIZZIE

Out of the blue, he jumped from behind the giant canvas. Sword swallowing. A daring exhibition. He had to practice, right? “Almost caught red-handed,” he mumbled. And when they asked him questions, he chuckled. “Oh, it wasn’t me, officer.” And they believe him, because he told them a harmless little white-lie. The officer grinned. But then he was given two days to leave the circus… Why?! Making a random passer-by swallow a sword hardly seemed a good enough reason to be fired. The said passer-by vanished into thin air, true. But still. Well, their loss. A daring exhibition no more.

SERENDIPIDY

It was entirely by accident I embarked on my new career – serial killer to contemporary artist in one simple step.

My last killing was rather messy: blood, guts, and gore everywhere, and body parts strewn all over the floor.

It hadn’t quite gone to plan.

It was supposed to be a simple throttling in a dark alleyway, but an unexpected change of plan meant it was indoors, and a little bit gory.

Thankfully, it happened in an art gallery.

Rather than clean up, I attached a small label: ‘Riot of Color’ – Unknown artist.

I sold it for a small fortune.

NORVAL JOE

Once they were at the river’s edge, and out of sight, Billbert, Loliamanda, and Sabrina joined hands and flew downstream. They crossed back to the highway passing flocks of sheep and eventually coming upon the small town of Ferndale. The main street was lined with Victorian houses. The rising sun reflected off myriad stained glass windows creating a riot of color, distracting the three from the danger waiting on the edge of town.
An elderly woman stepped into the road ahead of them, aimed a confetti cannon, and pulled the cord. A riot of color blasted them from the air.

TOM

897 Story 1
In its day Live Aid was real big deal. And it was in the day of VHS. I recorded the whole thing on a number of tapes. Each carefully labeled. Fast forward to the day I got married. Total chaos, lots to people circling in cars around a shifting center point. One of these folk was the person willing to do video. He needed a tape to record on. So somehow he got tape 15 from my Live Aid tapes. He used it to record the wedding, but the camera input failed. No wedding and a hole in Live Aid.

898 Story 2
Frank was some what normal. Job, eating habits, selection of friends, and most of his hobbies. He did have one odd habit. He loved sitting in large vats of paint. Had 16 barrels of different colors. Built a crane that lowered him into and out of each color. I took four hours. When finish Frank was a Riot of Color. His wife would wrap him in a bolt of white canvas, toss him in a wheelbarrow, tip him out at the edge of hill. One foot on the canvas, down the hill rolled rainbow Frank. Sold them for a Fortune

PLANET Z

When the Amazing Journey to Inner Space ride opened, thousands of guests boarded the conveyor of seats, showing them the journey through molecules and atoms.
After hours, the employees lit up all the projectors in a riot of color, and lit up their joints and dropped acid.
The speakers jamming the latest psychedelic rock.
The wildest ride, a trip unlike any other, true to the name of the building.
The park managers posted security guards to keep the employees from their after hours drug trips.
But the employees shared their drugs with the guards, and The Amazing Journey rolled on.

Weekly Challenge #897 – Old Videos

I blew up a bit in this one… leave a comment to let the writers know if you liked their stories.

The next topic is Riot Of Color

RICHARD

Old Videos

Tucked away at the back of the wardrobe, I’ve several boxes, stuffed full of old videos.

I’ve had them boxed up for around twenty years now, and they’ve followed me through at least three house moves, carefully packed up, transported, and put away in their new home.

Why have I kept them?

Through some vague sense, of ‘I might want to watch them, one day’? Not that I’ve anything to play them on anyway.

And the fact is, I’ve not watched any of them in the last twenty years, and probably never will.

But I keep them.

Just in case.

TURA

Old Videos
———
I have a stack of VHS tapes I’ve never got around to watching. I still have a VCR, but I never have the time. I could convert them to digital files, but my video to USB converter is so old it’s not compatible with my current OS. I could replace it, but when will I find time to do the conversion? Will I ever watch them anyway?

If I put this off too long, the tapes will degrade and won’t be playable at all. Then at last I’ll be able to dump them.

Maybe I should just dump them now.

LISA

Something Nasty in the Woodshed

Me and Simon had only gone round to help Fay next door clear the attic. Her husband had died a month ago, him and Dad had been as thick as thieves. She was moving somewhere smaller.

There were boxes of old video tapes up there with dates and girls names on. We’d seen the documentaries so joked about our serial killer neighbour.

After unearthing an old player we stopped for lunch and watched a video. It was much worse than we suspected. And it looked like he buried them in their garden.

“Fuck!” said Simon “is that your Dad digging?”

SERENDIPIDY

There are old videos of life in the village: Life before the calamity.

Grainy, blurred videos in washed out colour of picnics on the village green, laughing toddlers at the playground, couples, friends, families happy and relaxed, without a care in the world.

There’s even the odd wedding video.

Good times. Nobody could ever have imagined the horror that was to come.

It was a fine spring day, late in June. The sun was shining, and people were going about their business, blissfully unaware of what was coming their way.

For that was the day I arrived at the village.

LIZZIE

“Come on. It’s starting,” I said. Old videos and popcorn!
But… I had forgotten. Our old videos don’t go with popcorn. They go with sorrow.
“Say cheese for the camera,” they would say cheerfully.
We never did, no.
“Don’t be so grumpy all the time, you two.”
We were kids. We weren’t grumpy. We weren’t stupid. We weren’t shitheads. We were just kids.
Memory is such a trickster, isn’t it? It erases everything.
And here I was, in front of the TV, a bowl full of popcorn on my lap.
I wanted to cry, but I had no tears left.

NORVAL JOE

The woman seemed surprised by Billbert’s request for a back exit. Then she smiled and led them past a rack of dusty VHS movies for rent, through a door and into what appeared to be the woman’s home. A chunky man in a sleeveless t-shirt and gray slacks, sitting at a dining table didn’t look up from his newspaper as they traipsed past.
A back door led them to a wooden porch, forty feet above the placid Matole river.
The woman nodded to some stairs. “These will take you to a trail along the river, if that’s what you want.”

PLANET Z

Old Man Pinella sits in his home theatre, watching videos of the band.
Jason on guitar, Billy on bass, Joe on keyboards, and Wally on drums.
And then there was Vicky… oh, how she could sing.
The crowd was spellbound… after every song, silence.
And then the loudest applause and cheering and shouting.
The last video ends, and Pinella sits in the dark.
Remembering the band coming backstage, roadies packing up the equipment, and Pinella handing out plane tickets.
“I’ll see you in Chicago,” Pinella said to the dark screen.
He sips his coffee, and walks out of the theatre.

Weekly Challenge #896 – PICK TWO Reviewal, Painfully shy, Rats, Translation, Crack of dawn, Shine

The next topic is Old Videos

LISA

A Proud Murid Mother of Seven

Her babies were born during a summer thunderstorm. She nurtured them in a disused ventilation shaft whilst secretly dreading the day they’d leave the nest.

She prepared them well though – taught them about hawks, owls, cats and foxes even racoons although there weren’t many of those to be found around Digbeth Coach Station. She warned them of the temptation of poison bait boxes, and the dangers of eating cold kebab meat straight from the bin.

They first ventured out at the crack of dawn. They stuck closely together but went straight under the wheels of the overnight coach from Aberdeen.

RICHARD

Hello World

I’ve always been painfully shy. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the one hiding in the corner, keeping as low a profile as possible, and avoiding interaction with others.

It had to stop.

I got counselling – in itself a huge leap forward – and they gave me suggestions of ways to break out of my shell.

The internet was the perfect way to keep people at a distance, whilst stepping out of my comfort zone.

Try writing stories for a podcast, they said.

So, I did.

And here I am.

At long last, it’s my turn to shine!

LIZZIE

At the crack of dawn, the rats would come out to play.
He knew they would try to shine.
But he wouldn’t let them. Oh, no.
At the crack of dawn, the rats would start to talk.
He knew they’d give him up.
But he wouldn’t let them. Oh, no.
There was only one way to stop this madness.
He drove to them.
At the crack of dawn, he knocked on their door.
They opened, saw him and tried to run.
It was messy and they never got to shine.
He almost felt for them, at the crack of dawn.

SERENDIPIDY

Every morning, at the crack of dawn, the rats return to their lair.

The village breathes a collective sigh of relief, and once the sun is high in the sky, life can resume as normal.

Doors and shutters are checked, freshly-gnawed holes are filled, and bait and traps set, only then can we attend to the preparing and cooking of the meat snared overnight.

Once we have eaten, we prepare once more, for the darkness and horror of the night.

By day, we may feast on the rats, but when the night comes, they seek to feast on us.

TOM

Even in the quietest moments

Maurice surveyed the horizon, a mere sliver of light over the waves of black sand. He was not the one to be up at the crack of dawn. He was the night hawk, the man with the 10,000-yard stare. When he saw her face in the starlight, he could not bare to wake Amanda. It was the first time in weeks he noted the grief had for a moment crept away into the blackness about them. The trouble with the blackness is it was just as likely to creep back at you. What was creeping towards them were the rats.

NORVAL JOE

A kindly old woman smiled at them from behind the counter inside the store. She leaned forward to look out the window. “How’d you three get here?”
Sabrina picked up a shiny packet of powdered donuts. “We’ve been walking since the crack of dawn. Will this road take us to Eureka?”
She nodded. “Ferndale, Fortuna, then on to Eureka.”
Billbert paid for their donuts and milk. He headed for the door and stopped. A jeep pulled into the parking lot with three familiar passengers.
“Rats!” Billbert said. “In reviewal of our situation, is there a back door we can use?”

PLANET Z

Drusilla is painfully shy.
Sits in the back of the classroom.
Never raises her hand.
Wets herself when she’s called on anyway.
And if she answers, she answers in a whisper.
Changes in a bathroom stall for gym.
And runs to the bathroom to change back.
Nobody invites her to their parties.
Which is fine by her.
She likes to keep to herself.
And her pet rats.
Well, she calls them her pet rats.
But they’re just ordinary rats in the house.
Running around the cellar.
She puts out cheese for them.
They eat, and run back into the shadows.

Weekly Challenge #895 – Canyon

The next topic is Reviewal, Painfully shy, Rats, Translation, Crack of dawn, Shine

RICHARD

Undeliverance

As we paddled into the canyon, Jack murmured, “If you hear banjos, just keep paddling!”

“Very funny” I replied, but to be honest, I was unnerved. The rock walls closed in on us as the current caught our canoe and we began to speed, ever faster, through the narrow passage.

If we were to capsize here, gun-toting hillbillies would be the least of our problems.

Thankfully, we got through without incident and began to unpack on a handy beach.

Then, I heard the sound of a shotgun bolt drawn back, and a voice behind called out, “Squeal, piggy. Squeal!”

LIZZIE

Canyon was a crow.
Canyon hated his name.
Canyon abhorred the guy who had named him.
Canyon never replied when the guy called him.
The guy’s greenhouse was his pride.
So, Canyon started with pebbles and slowly upgraded to stones.
The day one of the windows shattered, Canyon cawed in triumph.
That’s when he stopped being Canyon and became a Jerk.
Canyon didn’t like Jerk either.
The guy fixed the window and sneered.
A convoluted plan ensued. Canyon’s buddies would help.
Well, the guy didn’t live long enough to enjoy his greenhouse.
It was a murder, by God, a murder!

LISA

Some Unsettling News
I’m getting married on a plane, odd because I’ve never flown well. It’s turbulent, the pilot’s struggling and I’m expecting to wake up any minute. But I don’t. I’m falling, falling from the plane into a canyon and I’ve not saved my future wife…

Then, I wake.

Next to her.

The woman, I found out yesterday, that slept with my best mate on our wedding night.

The woman that said his daughter was mine; my wife of thirty six years.

I roll over on blood soaked sheets and try to get back to sleep wondering when to report her death.

SERENDIPIDY

The police report stated it was death by misadventure, an unfortunate combination of standing too close to the edge, a selfie stick, and concentrating more on the perfect pout, than on keeping her balance.

Death, by Instagram.

It wasn’t, of course. It was murder: Premeditated, planned and perfect.

“Get a selfie on the edge”, I suggested, “you’ll be perfectly safe.”

And she would have been, had I not tampered with the stick the night before.

As she pressed the button, the spring released, propelling her precious phone over her head.

She lunged. Grabbed. Failed. Fell.

I got a great photo!

TOM

Barney Google he ain’t

When I was a kid, my grandma came to live with us. We were a Daily New family, but my grandma was a Tribune reader. The Trib was the size of a telephone book. Not much interest to a child of eight. What was cool about the Trib was the comic section, four pages. Which was good because some of the stripes made no sense at all. Prince Valiant boring. And Steve Canyon way beyond my pay teeny-bopper grade. Good old squared jawed Stev was the inspiration for my favorite cartoon Clutch Cargo which employed that cheesy Syncro-Vox lip sync.

NORVAL JOE

Neither Billbert or either of the girls had any idea where they were. The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky, so Billbert guessed which direction was east. As they flew north they passed over ridges and small canyons. They saw marijuana fields below them and eventually came upon a small general store where a road crossed a river.
They landed in the parking lot.
Linoliamanda read the green road sign, “Honeydew, California. Population three.”
Someone hung an “Open” sign in the doors window.
“Oh, good. I’m starving,” Sabrina said. “Let’s get something to eat before we head on.

PLANET Z

The tambourine man fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed him.
Through the empty streets of the evening empire, concrete canyons covered by the sands of time.
Over to the docks, casting off the ropes from a magic swirling ship.
Sailing across the sky, the sun.
The gunslinger followed the trail of smoke rings, far past the frozen leaves of the snowy forest.
And on the windy beach, the tambourine man’s ship had foundered.
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow, but not the gunslinger’s bullet.
The pistol spun, and a gloved hand returned it to its holster.

Weekly Challenge #894 – Stand

The next topic is Canyon… and, yes, I know I screwed this up.

LISA

Swipe and Pay on the Last Bus of the Day

It was standing room only, always the same on a rainy Saturday night, a sea of vacant faces and glazed expressions. I was sandwiched between a woman with a lot to say and a good looking man, I found out later, called Paul.

The bus jerked us about. Someone nearby really needed to wash their neck. Paul and I collided for the whole journey. We apologised whilst sharing an uncomfortable look then awkwardly got off at the same stop.

Thankfully he hadn’t noticed his missing card; I did a food shop bought some shoes then threw it into the Clyde.

RICHARD

Old Boy’s Club

“So, Sedgwick, where do you stand on the fairer sex?”

“I beg your pardon”, I replied, momentarily distracted from savouring my brandy.

“Women, old chap! Some of the boys think we should allow them into the club, are you for, or against it?”

The Clarrington was one of the more forward-looking gentlemen’s clubs, but even so, some things are sacrosanct.

I took another appreciative sip of Brandy.

“No, women have their place, and The Clarrington is not that place.”

“Jolly good, old boy” He checked his fob watch, “Now, drink up, the pole dancing girls will be starting soon!”

LIZZIE

They said “You can become filthy rich being a travel blogger”. He believed them. One day, a guy said “You’re a wuss.” He was no wuss. He was a King. “Off with his head!” He’d always wanted to say that. His kingdom. An old mattress, a dusty rug, a lamp. He could walk a few feet to the left and a few feet to the right. Thirty years, till the parole board decided he could leave. He did have some incense burning. It made him look normal. The severed head in his backpack was sloppy. Oh, well, stand still, Zen…!

SERENDIPIDY

Teacher made me stand in the corner. She was always making me do that; I reckon she got a kick from it. What sort of person takes pleasure from exerting their authority over a kid like that?

I wasn’t bothered about spending time in the corner, it gave me plenty of opportunity to plot and plan, it was more about the embarrassment of being singled out and made to look a fool.

Another bonus of facing the corner, was that it allowed me slip my gun from where I’d hidden it.

Time that teacher got singled out, by me.

TOM

Stand

I’m child of the 50s. I cut my music teeth on the Chicago Silver Dollar Survey. A top 40s kid. A system best described by Joni Mitchell in Free Man in Paris: Stoking the star maker machinery Behind the popular song. This all changed in the 80s with the rise of Alternative rock. Thinking man’s rock. I totally embraced REM’s Stand with its super bubble-gummy pop bounce, so reminisceic of The Banana Splits, The Archies, 1910 Fruit Gum Company and The Monkees. “Your feet are going to be on the ground. Your head is there to move you around.” Yup.

NORVAL JOE

Not wanting to have to make a stand against the two burley teenagers, Billbert leapt into the air. Linoliamanda rose with him, but stopped, as Sabrina remained, standing on the ground as solid as any rock.
Billbert dropped back to the ground. “I can’t stand this.”
Sabrina pointed to a stand of trees. “We can hide in there. Maybe fight them off.”
“No. It’s no use.” He thrust his other hand to Sabrina. “Let’s give it one more try.”
Sabrina took Billberts hand forming a three person circle.
Billbert barely thought about it and they rose into the air, together.

PLANET Z

They.
They tell us to sit.
They tell us to stand.
They tell us to put our hands over our heads.
They tell us to put our hands down.
They tell us to sit again.
They tell us to smile.
They tell us to stop smiling.
Stop smiling, right now.
They tell us to stand.
And tell us to sit again.
They tell us to do a lot of things.
Over. And over.
Until they stopped.
Because we told them to stop.
We told them to sit down.
We told them to stop smiling.
We are no longer their slaves.

Weekly Challenge #893 – Moisture

The topic of the next weekly challenge is Stand

RICHARD

Alan

Alan always had to be right.

What do you want to go to the rainforest for? You won’t enjoy it?’

That’s putting it mildly: I’d hated every second of the trip.

You’ll almost certainly get lost!’

Right, again. I’d never been more lost in my life.

You probably won’t make it back.’

Unfortunately, that was certainly beginning to look like a real possibility.

It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity that’ll kill you.’

Almost right. The moisture that filled the air, made it hard to breathe; but, it wouldn’t kill me.

However the snake bite would.

Not always right, Alan!

LISA

A Thermos Flask Borrowed off Nanna

It’s 1982. The car journey from Leicester to Dad’s mate’s caravan in Cornwall takes roughly 400 years. We go every year. My younger brother is exploring the moist contents of his nostrils, and on the other side of me the older one is reading a well illustrated book about insects.

At the services we stare at a poster for iced coke while a cup of tea, that tastes more of plastic cup than tea, is passed around. A big lorry rumbles past and the thermos falls off the dashboard and smashes.

It proves to be the highlight of the holiday.

LIZZIE

Plants need a lot of moisture. So, he bought an industrial moisturizing machine for his greenhouse. The plants were happy. Their growth was impressive, he had to admit. At some point, he thought about removing the moisturizer but he went on vacation and forgot about it completely. When he got back, the roof of the greenhouse had burst open. Everything was of an industrial size, the plants, some birds that flew inside, even the ants. He should’ve suspected. That’s why the damn moisturizer was so cheap. It was all over the news. Industrial contamination was turning everything into giants, people included.

SERENDIPIDY

The car might have been abandoned, but the ticking of the engine as it cooled, and the occasional, almost imperceptible rocking on its suspension told me it was just parked up.

Not many cars made it this deep into the forest.

I approached cautiously.

A film of moisture obscured the inside of the windows; they were clearly enjoying themselves, and were completely oblivious to my presence.

Hand, resting lightly on the door handle, I wondered if they’d plead for mercy, or run for their lives.

Either way, it would be good sport.

And I was the one holding the shotgun.

TOM

Not Happy

If you come from Chicago or New York, you think your pretty much humidity badass. Heat – wet got that covered. Power through, get the job done, wring out your shirt, flip on the AC. I had no idea there was a place on earth that excelled in full impact Moisture. In Florida I met my match. It’s bad enough your body is coat 24 -7 multiple layers of perpetual film, but every centimeter of your lungs are drowning in wet. Actually, film would be a kind description, goo would be more accurate. Give me phoenix where moisture work in your favor.

NORVAL JOE

Billbert took a hand of each of the girl’s in his and jumped into the air. None of them went anywhere and the teenage knights were running their direction. Moisture breaking out across his forehead, he tried again. And again, they remained firmly on the spongy forest soil.
Linoliamanda dropped Billbert’s hand. “Take Sabrina. They don’t really want me. I’ll be okay.”
Sabrina’s eyes lit up. “You heard the girl. Let’s go.”
“No!” To Sabrina’s shock, he shook off her grip and then grasped Linoliamanda’s hand again.
Sabrina looked like she would cry, until Billbert said, “Now, take Linoliamanda’s hand.”

PLANET Z

It rained last night.
I’d gotten my car washed.
The guy with the sticker scanner asked about the paint scrape on the left side.
Where I’d hit the pole at the electric charger.
“We can buff that out,” he said.
The scrape was down to the primer, no way they could do that.
Needed to go to the dealer for a new panel.
I didn’t respond, I just drove up to the car wash track, put it in neutral.
After the wash, I drove home and parked out in the lot.
No cover. No trees.
And it rained last night.

Weekly Challenge #892 – Recovery, Falling, Rotten egg, Some guy/girl I met online, Hopeless, Fog a mirror

The topic of the next weekly challenge is Moisture

RICHARD

First Responders

We watched him.

Watched him as he toppled from the ledge, falling four storeys, until the concrete path below arrested his descent.

We ran towards him, time being of the essence, thinking that just maybe he’d survived the impact.

We reached his prone figure and I knelt down beside him, as Jack urged me to get the guy into the recovery position.

Then, with practiced efficiency, we did what we do best.

It was a good haul: We recovered his wallet, watch, mobile phone, cash and a gold tooth.

And we were out of there long before the ambulance arrived.

LIZZIE

“I’ve never felt so grounded,” he said.
She could see through him.
“Some girl I met online,” he said.
A whole lot of bravado, a cigarette hanging from his lips.
That snapshot she took of him… The ridiculous hat, the feather, the flower. Was it a rose?
Hopeless. Empty.
She still remembered the album crammed with photos of himself, only himself. Page after page, after page.
When she asked why, he grinned and mumbled some vague explanation filled with an under-layer of self-doubt he desperately tried to hide.
Grounded in his desperation, wanting to be seen for what he wasn’t.

TOM

Recovery

Hi I’m the Angle previously known as 103742 , but you can call be Bill, saves time. When I am asked, which isn’t often, why did you take place in the Great Falling? Well, I can tell you this, it had noting to do with pride. Heavens no, that’s a little gallows humor there. It was Jenny, actually Angle 8675309. She said want to go on a fall with me? What’s a fall I ask, angles don’t know shit about verbs, its that lacking free-will thing. So down we all go screaming cowabunga. Been in recovery ever since, making progress.

NORVAL JOE

When Linoliamanda finally took Billbert’s hand they quickly rose, the well and old man falling away below them. Having overshot Sabrina, Billbert made a quick recovery and returned to the girl standing by the well.
Sabrina held out her hand. “Let’s go.”
Billbert was hesitant. “I’ve never levitated two people. I don’t know if I can.”
“There they are,” one of the teens shouted as they appeared on the trail from the forest.
Sabrina shook her extended hand at Billbert. “Let’s find out, quick.”
As the group of teens ran toward them, Billbert tried to levitate the three of them.

PLANET Z

“Insert the Recovery Disk and hit ENTER.” blinked on the screen.
Erica opened her desk drawer and looked through the disks until she found one marked RECOVERY DISK.
Sliding it into the drive, the ejection tab popped out with a click.
“Here goes nothing,” said Erica, and she pressed the ENTER key.
A progress bar appeared, and a green line slowly crawled from left to right.
When it filled the bar, RECOVERED appeared on the screen.
Then it went dark, the system rebooted, and Erica waited for the familiar login screen to appear.
“I need a faster system,” she muttered.