Men in Kilts

Men in Kilts

SPF 11-04-18 CE AYR 5
Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. The photo this week is was taken by C.E. Ayr in Glasgow, Scotland.  My story is a bit quirky. I hope it is equally enjoyable.

“Ever been to Scotland, Conrad?”

The question surprised me, producing a blank look that must have given The Boss reason to question my educational background.

“Scotland…you know, Loch Ness…Highlander… men in kilts?”

I blushed at the thought of naked male knees, conveying more information than I cared to share. I quickly came to my senses.

“Of course, I know Scotland. My grandfather was from Scotland. Or was Ireland? Never could keep the two countries straight. Why do you ask?”

“I need you to fly over and drop off a package.”

“Don’t they have postal service in Scotland,” I ask. The Boss has made strange requests before, but mail delivery was a new one.

“It’s all over the news Conrad! Amazon Corporation owns the USPS. Trump says so. Besides, I can’t take a chance this package is delivered to the wrong address.” The Boss leaned forward and whispered, “It’s for a lady friend of mine. If you get my drift.”

I got the drift. The Boss had lots of lady friends. I felt sorry for his missus, but still…

“Are there really men in kilts there?”

“The place is crawling with them.”

“When do I leave?”

 

 

Art at its Best

Art at its Best

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge, hosted by yours truly, to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. This week’s interesting photo is courtesy of Fandango. I am sure there will be many unusual stories generated this week, so wander HERE read a few. Or better yet, write your own story and add to the collection. 

SPF 09-23-18 Fandango 2
Photo courtesy of Fandango

 

Now for this week’s story…

“This will kill your career!” Andre screeched like a cat with its tail caught in the door as he stared in disbelief at the monstrosity in front of him. His own career was also at stake. Why had placed all his hope in one artist, Paul Best.

Paul rolled his eyes and smirked.

“Some agent you are! I should fire you. This is going to be bigger than any art exhibit you have ever seen.”

“Where did you get the idea.” Maybe Andre just needed to understand Paul’s motivation.

“It was along the curb in a low-class neighborhood. I think they call it trash, but I call it inspiration. Two broken chairs, and a tree limb. Fantastic!”

You picked it up?” Andre was horrified.

“Of course not! My driver did.” Paul beheld his newest creation. “I call this ‘Summer Evening.’ Reminiscent of those Southern hicks that sit under a tree drinking iced tea at twilight. Do you think I should add some Earl Grey tea bags to the limbs?

“Make it Lipton,” sighed Andre.

Perhaps Paul was right. When it came to creating art, he had the Midas touch. After all, he wasn’t called ‘The Best’ for nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

Little Pink Houses

Little Pink Houses

Good Sunday Morning.  I missed last week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge due to other priorities but glad to be back this week.  This week’s photo is one of my own, taken near the  Myriad Botanical Gardens in downtown Oklahoma city.

IMG_2304 (2)
Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

For those who don’t know, Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge, hosted by yours truly, to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. I am sure there will be many interesting stories this week, so why not wander over there and read for few. Or better yet, write your own story and add to the collection.  You can find this week’s challenge HERE

Now for this week’s story.

At the end of the cul-de-sac sat a tiny pink house, sandwiched between houses three-times its size. Millennials Joe and Beth Campbell owned the quaint cottage, boasting to their neighbors they were no longer slaves to their positions.

Until they won the lottery.

No sooner had the for-sale sign been staked when the couple heard a knock at the door. A strange little man with a long white beard and pointed nose looked up at them.

“The name’s Rump,” he said, “I can pay your asking price.”

The Campbells each wondered what their neighbors would think.

“I will pay more,” he offered.

The heck with the neighbors. The Campbells took the offer.

Before they could sign the papers, they hear another knock. A bent-over old woman clothed in a long black dress stood on their steps. Rump introduced his wife, Hilda.

Joe and Beth disliked their neighbors but selling the house to characters out of Grimm’s Fairy Tales seemed wrong.

“We changed our minds,” they said, slamming the door.

Rump glared at his wife. “Hag, I told you, stay in the car! Now what are we going to do? Houses like this don’t come on the market every day.”

 

 

 

Alliance

Alliance

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this challenge and Gah  Learner for this week’s prompt.

gah_window
Photo credit: Gah Learner

Harold curled his body into a tight knot, holding the bed-covers close. The room felt cold as a refrigerator and it was only October. What would December bring?

Next to him, Harold’s wife slept unaffected by the freezing air. He thought back to the early days of their marriage when on cold nights they snuggled to keep each other warm.

That was before The Change.

Now, no matter how cold it was outside, Harold’s wife insisted they sleep with the window open.

All Harold could do is wrap himself in blankets and pray for Summer.

The inspiration for this story (with slight deviation) comes from a quote by George Bernard Shaw

Marriage is an alliance entered into by a man who can’t sleep with the window shut and a woman who can’t sleep with the window open.

Between Friends

Between Friends

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. This week’s photo is courtesy of Fandango.

SPF August 12 2018 Fandango 1
Photo Credit: Fandango

“Norman Bates.”

“Who?”

“The loony who dressed up like his mother and killed the blond dame in the shower. In the movies.”

Pete and Harvey sat with legs dangling over the edge of the 41st floor. High-rise construction was a lonely business, and Pete was glad he had Harvey to help pass the time.

“What makes you think your brother-in-law Jimmy is like Norman Bates?” Harvey asked.

“He has one of those shower obsessions. Last week I was out back burning some burgers when, you know, nature called. I walked to the bathroom, and there was Jimmy, standing in the shower, smelling the soap.” Pete stopped to take a bite of his ham sandwich. “You don’t think he is one of those…?

Harvey paused before answering. “What kind of soap was it?”

“It was the missus’ soap. Dove maybe?”

“Yeah, I like Dove. It makes the wife’s skin smell clean.

“It does have a nice aroma.” said Pete.

“About Jimmy, don’t worry about him. Once I caught my brother Davy holding up the wife’s brassiere to his chest. You can’t pick your family, but you can pick your friends. Know what I mean, Pete.”

“Yeah, Harvey. I know.”

 

 

 

Let’s Make a Decision

Let’s Make a Decision

Tuesday Scribes is a new weekly writing challenge. This week, the challenge is to write a ‘Drabble’, which I learned is a story consisting of exactly 100 words using a photo prompt of a line of doors. I had two thoughts when I saw it: too many decisions, and the old TV show, Let’s Make a Deal. The story below is not auto-biographical, but I imagine this is how it could be when the contestant made it to the Big Deal of the Day. Thanks to Mike Johnson for creating this challenge. I am sure it will be an ‘instant winner’.

Here is today’s Photo:

doors-1767564_1280
Photo Credit: Pixabay

I don’t like making decisions.

It started when I was a contestant on Let’s Make a Deal.

Behind door number one was a mahogany living room set. I imagined myself lounging on the sofa, reading a magazine.

Then, the stakes were raised.

Do I trade it for what is behind one of the other two doors?

What if it is a convertible? I imagined my hair flying in the wind.

What if it is dog food for life? I don’t even have a dog.

Millions of viewers anxiously wait for me to decide.

It’s time to cut to a commercial.

 

count = 100

Just Sports II

Just Sports II

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. Thanks to C.E. Ayr for this weeks challenge. To see what other stories were inspired by this great photo, just go here

This week is a continuation of my last story, Just Sports. I couldn’t leave Frank and Diane hanging in marital disarray and I hope you agree, things are getting interesting. 

SPF July 22 2018 (2 of 1)
Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr

Diane was adamant.

“I want four hours, every Saturday morning. No questions asked.”

“What do you mean, no questions asked. What do you plan to do?”

“No questions. Not where I go, not whom I’m with. Those are my conditions.”

The couple sat at separate ends of the therapist’s couch. The World Cup had torn their marriage apart. Diane wanted a divorce, but Frank begged they try counseling first. His sports obsession was out of control and he was willing to do anything to keep his wife.

On Saturday morning, Diane left the house without a word. She drove to the park where she saw Barry’s car. It was early, and they were quite alone.

“Frankie is OK with this?” Barry asked. Frank was his best friend and he wanted to make sure he had his blessings first.”

“It’s complicated. The less he knows, the better.”

“I like you Diane, but I’m not sure you are worth losing a friend over.”

“You are such a silly boy. Can we go now?”

“Whenever you are ready.” Barry pointed to the bicycles. “You are officially in training for the  Hotter ‘N’ Hell Hundred.”

 

Just Sport

Just Sport

Imported 20170924 056 (2)
Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt.  These week’s photo was taken at a quaint Argentine restaurant in McAllen, Texas. For more stories like this, visit the site HERE

“I don’t understand what all the hubbub is about. It’s just sports”

Frank spewed his beer across the room. “Just sports! Woman, do you even know what you are saying?”

“I have been patient for over a month. Every day there is a game. Even on the weekday. Do you know how many times I missed Jeopardy? Then just when you think it is over, they add minutes to the end!  It’s all you talk about and I have had enough. It ends today. No more soccer.

“It’s football, not soccer, and today is the final. It’s the game of the century. David versus Goliath. I have to watch it.

“Sorry, but you have to choose”

Frank looked at the face of his beautiful wife, the mother of his children, the woman he loved more than anything else on earth. He looked at the 72-inch big screen TV, the object of his obsession. At that moment, he realized what was important in life.

Frank walked to the hallway where he picked up the car keys and handed them to Diane.

“Sorry darling but go if you must.” This is not just sports. This is World Cup.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOTE: As I re-read what I wrote, I realize it is a bit sexist, and that was unintentional. Football is not just for men and plenty of women are enthusiastic  followers of the game.  I thought about re-writing so that the fan was a female and the rejected lover is male; that would have been more comical; however, the game is fast approaching and  I have a Lab puppy that might eat the couch if I don’t keep my eyes on him. The story is what it is.

 

The Trouble with Harry

The Trouble with Harry

 

July 4 2018
Photo Credit: J.Hardy Carroll

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this challenge and J Hardy Carroll for this week’s prompt. This week’s story is light-hearted. I  hope you enjoy it. Word count is 98. 

Lost

Prosthetic leg

$10,000 reward

Call …

Harry grinned as he read the sign. In the lost-and-found business that was a lot of money. More than the measly hundred people paid for missing dogs. With that kind of loot, Harry could go legit.

If he just knew where to look.

Where would a leg hide?

The next day, Harry contacted the owner. Miraculously, the leg had been found. A meeting was arranged.

When Harry arrived, the cops arrested him for grand theft.

How could Harry know all fake legs were not the same. It worked with dog owners.

 

The Trouble with Ex’s

The Trouble with Ex’s

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. Thanks to long-time contributor C.E. Ayr for this week’s challenging photo.

SPF June 3 2018 (1 of 1)
Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr

My realtor just shook her head after a tour of the house.

“It won’t sell in this condition,” she said. “Not at the price you are asking.”

“But I need the full price,” I pleaded. Selling this house was my ticket out. The money would allow me to travel the world as a nomad and write a book about the experience. This was my dream.

“You could have a fire sale,” she joked.

I thought the idea was brilliant.

I called my ex, who had friends in the business of solving problems. Everything was set up for the weekend.

For an alibi, it was off to the coast with my BFF Katie for sun and fun. I had neither as I awaited the phone call telling me my house had burned down. It never came.

Arriving home Sunday night, I expected to see a pile of smoldering ash where my house once stood. Imagine my surprise seeing the ash pile was the home of my neighbor, Frank the Fire Marshall.

Some wishes do come true. I now have plenty of time to work on my book. The subject has changed. It’s now called Tiny Living in a 6-Foot Cell.

.