It’s Important to Abide by the Law

 

Just a little fun this week gleaned from the antics of certain characters I know.

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Randy Mazie

The three men stumbled outside and across the dark car park, bumping off wing mirrors. Drunkenly they lumbered up the hill almost avoiding obstacles like lampposts the council had put in their path.
They came to a large sign.
“Whazzit say?”
They pitched their collective intellect at the question.
“No shumthin.”
“Not ‘No shumthin’’, no…then shumthin’. Looks like trees.”
“No trees? …I can see shum.”
“Think it’s ‘No tree pissing.’”
“Oh…that’s a problem.”
“Now you mention it.”
“Me too.”
Compliantly, they hopped the fence and hobbled in the direction of where they thought they lived, occasionally grimacing and squeezing their trousers.

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

See it, say it, sort it. Suspicious bag at the airport.

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“Ridiculous, this country. Snow doesn’t stop Canada,” Dower raged.
“But this was a bomb scare,” Higgins sighed.
“Surely they’ve enough experience to deal with these things expediently.”
“Someone wanting a dump couldn’t fit his case in the stall. He asked someone to watch it but she got worried.”
“Did she check the bogs before she went code red?”
“She didn’t know his name and baulked at trying the cubicles.”
Dower scrutinised his companion, “You know this because?”
“It was my luggage.”
“You’re the friggin’ terrorist?”
Hands up, Higgins sniffed, “Problem is, after the controlled explosion, I haven’t any clothes for tonight.”

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

 

 

 

The Break Up

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PHOTO PROMPT © Valerie J. Barrett

“Put the kettle on Polly.”
“My name’s not Polly.”
“I know I was just referencing…what’s up?”
“I don’t know, so much to do…the ironing…”
“Don’t worry, it’s not pressing. See what I did there?”
“For heaven’s sake!.. Sorry, I know you’re trying…”
“But you’re not prepared to.”
“Can’t you see? If it takes this much effort it’s not right.”
“There’s someone else. Isn’t there.”
“Sort of.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I’ve only seen him twice.”
“Only twice but that’s enough to make him the better option?”
“Where are you going?”
“To pack my things…and I’m taking the iron, it’s mine.”

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Confession Made Fun

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

“I bet you’ve played ‘Pin the tail on the donkey’.”
Blood dripped from the ropes scoring Jason’s wrists; his feet dangled two feet off the floor.
“In this version, you’re the donkey.”
Caspar blindfolded himself then felt for a thin blade on a workbench.
“I’ll miss initially if you keep swaying, or I might spike you in the rear which will make sitting uncomfortable. Eventually though, I’m likely to fatally stab you, so stop me at any point.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll tell you where the body is!” Jason screamed
Caspar sighed, “Spoilsport, you could’ve given me a couple of goes.”

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

The Excise Man and the Ghost

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Tom scanned the clifftop and cursed the excise man atop his horse. He heard the slap of the waves against the boat and caught its signal. The man saw it too, for he replied in Tom’s place to tempt it ashore. The fool would catch trouble.
Donning a phosphorus dipped cloak, Tom feigned to glide eerily along the tideline.
The officer shrieked, “A ghost!” but instead of fleeing, he charged at Tom and swooping down pulled him onto the horse, crowing, “Not the spirit I expected but you’ll do little ghost. We’re not as gullible as them at Hadleigh Castle.”

I feel a little explanation may be required.

Back in the day smuggling into Britain could be a  brutal business, those employed to prevent it were often outnumbered and came to grisly ends. The smugglers would prefer to go about their business undisturbed though and ghost stories were often used to hide their operations and scare off the superstitious. At Hadleigh Castle a pair of ‘phantoms’, – the White Lady and Black Man – made dramatic appearances just before a shipment of illicit liquor arrived, and duly disappeared when all the liquor had been moved away. There is no doubt that the famous 18th century legend of ‘the Ghostly Drummer of Hurstmonceaux Castle’ in Sussex started with some enterprising smugglers and a little phosphorus! – by Ellen Castelow

 

 

 

‘The Ghostly Drummer of Hurstmonceaux’

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by  Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Message Received and Misunderstood

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Today I’ve gone with Mad Monk, my first mad monk tale. Everyone should write at least one

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

The tramp of the pious and possessed to worship had worn smooth the path through the cloister but now the edifice crumbled and weeds cracked the flags.
Recently, the monks had passed faster than replacements could be recruited. There remained but one decrepit, cadaverous man eking out his days on prayer and potage, too weak to tend the buildings or fight nature’s advance.
Sulking into his broth, he wished he’d spared at least one for company and chores. “Lord, I did as you bid,” he screamed to the vaulted ceiling. “Why didn’t you let me keep one for my old age?”

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Natural Defences

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

‘Some buildings are just built to burglar specifications. With those grab-points and toeholds, I’ll beat the lift to the third floor.’
Sheridan double-checked the target window and climbed, maintaining the golden rule, ‘three points of contact at all times.’
A strange sphere hung off the windowsill evidently humming. He grabbed it recklessly and the noise grew to a roar. He dropped it but his arm and now his face was on fire. Losing grip with his other hand, he fell writhing and screaming.
Sadly, the angry cloud of wasps that hung over him a spitefully long time prevented any rescue.

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.