The Mast

It was a fine blustery day.

Dan and I manned the shiny white van, marked ‘Environmental Eco-Measures.’

It looked very impressive with it’s tech laden roof, but it was all fake of course.

The inside was drab and gloomy and empty beer cans and greasy chip paper littered the floor.

The edges of the worktable, covered in blinking lights and monitors cut into my gut as I leant forward to work the motors that lifted the mast.

“Higher,” said Dan, his fetid breath wafting over me.

“It won’t go any higher,“ I replied, through gritted teeth.

He shone a torch in my face.

“Damn these Cruise Liners, they just make these boats taller and taller. Can’t you get the camera just a little higher?”

“I daren’t go …”

Blinded by the flashlight I didn’t see him lean over and grab the joystick.

The motor made a strange strident whine as he pushed it as far as it would go.

Then without warning, the van flipped on it’s side and we flew over the table, head first. My hand went to my throbbing head.

“Shit Dan. Why didn’t you request the Drone?”

But Dan was in no condition to reply.

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge with simple rules. Use the prompt and write Flash Fiction or Poetry in under 200 words. The prompt can be used in any manner even subtly!

4 Replies to “The Mast : Sunday Photo Fiction”

  1. Oh no, maybe a bit too small for two. Great take Graham. I hope Dan is alright. I guess it will be kind of embarrassing when they call for back up lol.

    Liked by 1 person

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