fiction

A Most Interesting Confrontation

“I’m telling you, man,” Humpty told Tweedle,” the guy at the door looked just like Alan Napier’s portrayal of Alfred Pennyworth”.

 

 

“Do tell,” his befuddled friend said.

 

 

The former went on to explain, “All I did was take a swig of me daily pint while putting away me sleeping bag. Next thing I knew Alfred showed up and I followed him.”

 

“Careful what you drink, bruh,” was Tweedle’s response.

 

 

“Within minutes we were marooned on a desert island, surrounded by deranged octopuses.”

 

 

His friend simply gazed at him in amazement, breathlessly taking it all in.

 

 

“We wanted to run,” Humpty said, “But you know how molluscs are. We were terrified they might chase us.

 

 

“Hey”, his friend couldn’t resist telling him, “If you had to get stuck like that with a character from a ’60’s super hero show, it’s too bad you couldn’t have been with Bruce Lee’s Kato from ‘The Green Hornet’. Now There’s a guy with fists of steel! He could have taken those octopuses but good!” 

 

 

“Oh well”, Tweedle continued, “I’ll say one thing for you. At least you’re not some kind of a total wastrel who should be locked up in a metal cage.  Your imagination alone more than keeps things hopping around here.img_3710

 

Here’s yet another excursion into Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie ,a work of fiction based upon ten relatively easy vocabulary words.

 

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The Dead Writers’ Society

mindlovemiseryHarry and Blanche finally found their dream house. Having always been both nature lovers and bookworms, they’d fantasized for years about the perfect combination of their two loves.

 

“You’ll see, sweetheart,” the proud husband gushed. “Once all these trees start blooming, it will be such a beautiful environment.”

 

 

“Yes, Harry,” Blanche intoned. “Until then we can get our books arranged. We’ll start with the Romantic poetry and Regency period novels. Then we can move on to the Victorian novels and poetry.

 

You never know, of course, when Coventry Patmore and Jane Austen might stop by~or the Bronte’s and Browning’s~perhaps even the Shelley’s,” she imagined aloud.

 

“People will claim it can’t be done,” Harry admitted reluctantly. “‘You do understand they’re all currently deceased’, they’ll point out.”

 

 

“Little do folks know,” Blanche continued, “The rapport we’ve always had with the great literary giants of yore. Of course, all anyone needs is a library card and a keen set of eyes and ears. With our new purchase, though, we have even much more of an advantage.”

 

 

Here’s me entry, based upon a photo prompt from Tale Weaver #172

 

 

That One Minor Detail

sunday-photo-22-aprilIt was Walpurgis Night.  The Angelus bells at St. Gabriel’s tolled, reminding the villagers that the Moment of Truth had at last arrived.

 

“You understand the tradition, Braithwaite,” Lilith bluntly reminded her nephew.  “The hundred years are up.  Drink one.”

 

 

Each century, on this date, the oldest unmarried Earnshaw man is required to decide which, among these glasses, he will drink from.

 

“Remember, Old Boy,” she continued. “One will render you a madman. One will merely result in the death of someone you don’t know.  The remaining glass is quite harmless and does nothing.”

 

Braithwaite had spent many long, sleepless nights pondering the consequences of his inevitable decision. There was one detail he simply couldn’t understand:  Why was each liquid, in each glass, tilted at such an odd diagonal angle?

 

“It’s quite funny,” he thought, “How one minor detail~or was it minor?~can be so distracting.” All the while he sat motionless, quite mesmerized, wondering what Uncle Basil might have done when his turn arrived. He reached out , at the decisive instant, for a glass.

 

“All is lost no matter what,” he thought. “I shall see you soon, Uncle Basil,” as he took an inevitable sip.

 

Here’s me very first attempt at Sunday Photo Fiction .  Each week we are to write a 200~word (or fewer) story based upon a photo prompt. Mine is 197~words.  Thank Al Forbes for this week’s photograph.

Cha Cha Cha

tltweek115“Since we’re stuck up here anyway until further notice,” he asked his new acquaintance, “would you like to dance, my lovely friend?”

 

“Oh, most certainly, kind Sir,” was the enchanting damsel’s delighted reply.

 

Do please wait a minute,” he complained, “as I retie my shoelaces.”

 

 

Here’s me latest post for 3LineTales.  It’s a short weekly piece based upon a photo prompt.

 

 

 

 

What Pegman Saw~Scylla and Charybdis

billinudgel

  Harvey and George finally got a chance to spend a few minutes away from Muriel and Gloria while they were on vacation.

 

“Yeah, Bruh,” Harvey gushed to his oldest friend, “This is the life. If we could live close to a place like this, life would be an absolute feast. Don’t listen to those lunatic girls, with their fad diets.”

 

“Absolutely!” George admitted. “I’m so sick and tired of all their healthy fads, for fear of made up cooties like lactose, gluten, and crap like that.  They’re just money~making scams anyway.”

 

Eventually, after having had too much of a feast, the boys started feeling wiped out. Exhausted, they asked for some Alka~Seltzer. George pointed out: “Just because their diet is a disease, doesn’t mean ours is necessarily a perfect cure. We pushed it too far and it became an equivalent disease.”

 

 

This week’s What Pegman Saw  takes us to New South Wales in Australia. The picture was supplied by KRawson

Their Satanic Majesties’ Request

“You know those novels and short stories, like Oscar Wilde’s ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’, and Kafka’s ‘The Metamorphosis?’  Elzo asked his friend Ennio on the phone.

 

“Yeah?” the unsuspecting sidekick admitted.

 

“Well,” the former tried to explain, “I think we have to talk.”

 

“Hey,” Ennio stammered. “I’ve been trying to arrange this blind date for you and Sharon for the past six months!  She’s such a sweet girl. I’m sure she’ll humor you.” 

 

 

Reluctantly, Elzo agreed to meet her at a nearby restaurant for supper.

 

First there were the introductions.

 

 

So,” she started. “Ennio says you’re a history teacher.”

 

“Yes,” he chimed in. “How do you like being a nurse?”

 

Amazingly the otherwise inevitable small talk went on quite well. The friends gawked back and forth at each other, wondering how she could possibly not have noticed anything’s being amiss.

 

 

Eventually Ennio and his girlfriend Mabel excused themselves and left early so the two could be alone.

 

Sensing that now was his perfect chance, Elzo asked Sharon for an explanation.

 

 

“Why haven’t you even so much as flinched?” he wondered.

 

 

“Friend,” she replied slowly, “I am a minion from a Satanic cult.  I merely assumed you were one of us. Haven’t you ever heard that Vishnu was once incarnated as a boar?”

 

 

From there she proceeded to explain to him all about Manicheans, gnostics, gods ranging from Pan to Moloch.

 

 

The befuddled swain tried, as gallantly as he could, to humor her for as long as it was unavoidably necessary.  At the end of the evening he politely said his good~byes and left.

 

 

The next day Ennio and Mabel couldn’t wait for a full account of all that transpired over the course of the fateful tryst.

 

 

“Well maybe I’m in no position to be picky these days, considering my circumstances,” he explained, “but have you ever gotten the impression that maybe someone’s just not quite all that nice of a catch?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Welcome back to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie , where we, weekly, write a story based upon a photo prompt. This week Nekneeraj, our host, gives us an image by Igor Morski.

The Prettiest Girl In School

cheating “Ellen and Fred are apparently destined always to sit right in front of me,”   Ralph thought.

 

It all started in Southwick’s seventh grade history class. Now we’re in Hempton’s eleventh grade chemistry class, and I’m still forced to put up with my ideal woman’s constantly sitting with the likes of that clown.”

 

Mr. Hempton was pacing around the front of the classroom with his trademark shirt~inevitably either pink or white~and tie, trying to remain patient with his lovelorn pupil.

 

 

“Mr. Gerrity,” he tactfully asked, “What is a mole?”

“6.02 times ten to the  twenty third, sir,” his young charged stated.

 

“Oh well,” the smitten boy thought, “That’s one break but it can’t last.”

 

Throughout the rest of the period he continued vacillating between daydreaming and trying to pay attention.

 

“I wonder if they have anything like Alka~Seltzer in the cafeteria vending machines,” he thought.

 

 

Time lingered. Ralph and Mr. Hempton continued their ritual. Amazingly neither Fred nor Ellen, for one second, came close to catching onto anything.

 

 

The bell finally rang.  “Oh  well,” the young swain thought, “At least I sort of get a break…only for a little while.”

Welcome back to Flash Fiction For the Purposeful Practioner   This week’s photo prompt comes from  

MorgueFile MX146-460-Cheat

The Symbol

tltweek112We always enjoy the company of literature majors.  We often read William Blake’s “Songs of Innocence” too.       

It’s Holy Week, heading toward Easter.   Now we can inspire everyone to clean up his act.   

 

 

People always claim we’re supposedly not all that bright but hey we’re mighty good as symbols.

 

 

 

Here’s yet another of me attempts at 3LIneTales

 

This week’s photo comes from Sam Carter

 

on Unsplash.

 

 

 

 

Love Italian Style

yellowstone-national-park

Sadie and Albert, after having been subjected to a lot of  stress for a prolonged period of time, finally decided to take a long vacation.

 

“Of all the places even to think of, though,” she pondered, “why Wyoming?”

 

“I told you,” he explained. “Vittorio couldn’t stop raving about it. While we’re here I intend to do nothing but practice my guitar and Italian. You can do whatever you like. The view is perfect. We can take long walks together and enjoy the scenery, and the peace and quiet.”

 

Throughout the week, Albert, true to his word, constantly practiced Italian:
“Sto, stai, sta, stiamo, state, stanno,” day and night. Even his entire guitar repertoire was mostly “La Spagnola”.

 

At the end of their trip, Sadie asked Albert: “I have one request, honey, for next year’s vacation. If you have to ask for advice, please ask someone whose name is in English?”

 

Here’s me latest contribution to What Pegman Saw

 

This week’s picture is of Yellowstone National Park

 

It was posted by K Rawson

 

 

 

Porphyria’s Cat

kittenPorphyria’s cat had always been quite concerned about her latest beau.                                                                                                     “I don’t care what any of you say,” he told his friends. “I just don’t trust this creep!”                                                                                                                                                      One particularly cold, stormy, windy night, his suspicions were proven right.                                                                                       After having lit the fire and gotten comfortable she sat next to Lover Boy. The gorgeous blue~eyed blondie, who had always been the object of his narcissist obsession, fell prey to his sadistic side.                                                                                                                                                                           The cat was quite stunned.                                                                                                               “I can’t believe it!” he gasped helplessly. “That moron’s strangled my beloved owner.”

 

He gazed at the deranged scene.  The lady’s dead body, and her maniacal boyfriend, sat side by side.                                                                                                       

The cat couldn’t imagine what to do. His heart was broken. Overwhelmed with disbelief that such a horrid spectacle could possibly be met with such equally intense silence, he trembled helplessly. Amazingly, the fire went on crackling, the clock continued ticking, all was as before. 

 

Don’t they even know what’s happened?” he pondered. The very air was overwhelmed with complete madness as the killer just sat there, smug in his obsessive selfishness. Smiling, even laughing, he truly knew how to break a cat’s heart. 

 

Here’s yet another attempt at Flash Fiction For the Practical Practitioner

 

 

 

I got the idea to write a story based upon Robert Browning’s poem,  “Porphyria’s Lover”

 

Photo credit goes to Morgue File