Camel : OWPC

Jennifer Nichole Wells organises a fabulous One Word Photo Challenge (OWPC) every Tuesday and today’s challenge is Camel.

I visited Las Palmas, Lanzarote, last November on a Canary Islands cruise and took these photos of a Camel excursion. To be honest I find them rather sad and would much prefer them being free to walk where they wish but they have become part of the landscape of the island apparently.

Escalation : FFfAW

Escalation

It looked a bit like the incoming froth of the tide but the bitterly cold wind betrayed the hibernal reality. Leftover snow.

Then we spotted it.

To the untrained eye it was a banal sight.

Nothing to see here.

Move along.

Just a boy on a bench overlooking the city skyline across the river.

Andy pointed.

“He’s realistic ain’t he, Todd?”

“Yeah, we almost missed this one,” I replied.

“Seems broken,” Andy laughed nervously.

“Huh.”

“We got lucky. Not like last week. Lots of damage. Thousands of casualties.”

“I’ll retrieve the device.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

I skirted around the bench and saw the faceless droid holding onto a metal box, it’s finger a few centimetres from a red button. I stifled a smirk. It was like a scene from an unimaginative SciFi flick.

But reality overtook fiction as the drone buzzed.

‘Recharge Complete.’

I lunged.

Too late.

We watched helplessly as the blast approached, billowing over the water, and although our mouths were wide open, it was far too late for screaming.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) is a weekly Flash Fiction challenge set by the amazing Priceless Joy and this is the 68th iteration. Amazing. This week’s prompt is © Barbara Taylor, thanks Barbara.

The Pies : Sunday Photo Fiction

The Pies

Stan got into the car, turned the key, and eased out of the Executive Car Park.

With one hand on the steering wheel, he pulled on his tie and eased the knot.

He sighed as he entered the motorway, it had been another long gruelling day and he resented the long commute home. The M6, normally congested on a Friday evening, was surprisingly clear.

The radio churned out the same stale news.

He passed under a bridge and gave a wry smile as he spied an inscription.

‘THE PIES’

Apparently it was a reference to a legendary Liverpool band that barely existed. There used to be numerous other messages daubed on bridges in and out of the city.

He passed under it every workday and rarely gave it a second look.

There was another bridge, just before his turnoff, and from afar he saw there was a white sheet draped over the side. As he approached he saw something written in thick black letters.

‘<3 ARE IN THE OVEN, STAN <3’

Looking up, he just caught the frantic waves of his kids as he passed under the bridge, minutes from home and the start of the weekend.

For Sunday Photo Fiction this week I have decided, once again, to exclude violence or melancholic overtones! The prompt is © A Mixed Bag, 2014.

Here is a link to a possible explanation of the inscription. Here is another on the phenomena.

The Motel : FFftPP

The Motel

“I am not staying here, honey,” you said, but I was thinking ahead. I felt the cold steel of the blade in my pocket. All I had to do was get you into that room, and then it would be too late.

“We’ll just check it out sweetheart.” The night hid my grim expression and my voice was calm and reassuring. I’d had lots of practice.

We entered and threw the bags onto the bed, the flashing red, white and blue lightbulbs of the motel sign highlighted unnameable stains on the colourless bedlinen.

“I’ll just take a leak,” I said, as I made for the bathroom.

They were far from famous, as last words go.

“Bye bye, honey,” I caught the laugh in your voice, but felt no pain as your bullet entered the back of my head, passed through my skull and embedded itself into the drab wallpaper.

No time to wonder why. No time for regrets.

Time was for the living.

Roger Shipp challenges us each week to write some flash fiction for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner with a photo prompt he provides and a few words that we are encouraged, but not obliged, to include somewhere in the story.